


However Improbable

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [59]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU of Priority of Life, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26285992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: Dr. Toth has a bone to pick with Sergeant Parker.  Two actually.  As Team One’s Sergeant faces suspension for his decision to keep Wordy on duty as well as his lack of action regarding Jules and Sam’s renewed relationship, he fights.  Not for himself, but for his team.  And an unexpected ally steps into the fray, settling the score between doctor and negotiator…for good.  AU of Priority of Life
Relationships: Sam Braddock/Jules Callaghan
Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [59]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/538363
Comments: 27
Kudos: 8





	1. When You Have

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for 04x17: Priority of Life. Pretty much the entire episode. And I am using dialogue from the episode. This story is the fifty-ninth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Knights and Cops".
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

An acrid yellow fog hung over the room. Boxes of supplies, specimen tubes, and petri dishes lay scattered on the metal floor, near a closed lab refrigerator and a wheeled half-barrel. Four people lay in the room, two men, two women. One of the women clutched her arm with the opposite hand, a pained expression on her face.

“We need to go now. The vents aren’t on,” Constable Jules Callaghan reported in a weak, nearly trembling voice.

Outside the lab, in the facility’s monitor room, Spike spoke with a grim tone. “The venting system must’ve been knocked off-line when Xavier sabotaged the power generator.”

Jules turned her head at a desperate cry from the other woman in the lab. The blonde scientist was partially trapped under the biological clean bench she and her colleague had been working only moments before. “My leg,” she wailed, “I can’t feel my leg.”

The brunette could _feel_ Sam’s gaze on her, _willing_ her to hold on and survive. Over the comm, he spat, “The pathogen meter’s 900 and rising.”

Another voice murmured, “Anything over 2500 is fatal.”

Spike’s echoed, “Twenty-five hundred,” fell through her headset. The dread. The utter _horror_ , along with a fearful, _not again, please not again_.

Sam’s determination rang through the lab’s intercom. “She needs medical attention. Okay? You all do. You need to let everybody out now.” Then, softer, more intent and desperate. “Jules?”

It hurt, oh, gawd, it hurt. She could feel herself slipping, falling sideways. Her grip losing its strength.

“Jules? Jules.”

The sniper felt her face hit the cold metal of the floor, tiny pinprick holes against her cheek.

As Sam yelled, “Jules,” power flared within her. Scarlet, marked with _his_ determination, _his_ refusal to let her give up.

And she swore she could hear her Sergeant’s voice inside her mind.

_Don’t you_ dare _die on me, Julianna Callaghan. You do not have permission to die._

Softly, under her breath, Jules whispered, “Copy that, Sarge.”

* * * * *

_5 hours earlier_

The tall brunet walking down the hall glanced over at the sound of beeping from the nearby hazmat lab. His newest waste disposal technician wasn’t the swiftest of human beings and hadn’t yet grasped all the company’s safety protocols. Accordingly, he slowed his pace and turned to watch the man come out.

The scientist’s dark eyes were tucked under modest eyebrows and a long nose, above a clean shaven chin and jaw with the beginnings of stubble. Below Dr. Applewhite’s typical white lab coat, he wore a blue plaid shirt with white buttons and a rumpled collar, but the collar did nothing to detract from the intelligence that burned within the researcher.

When his technician appeared, the doctor wished he’d been wrong in his suspicions. The man carried a yellow bag marked for incineration, but the bag alone was not enough. “That’s a test subject?” he inquired, a British lilt to his voice.

“Yes,” the technician confirmed at once, turning with surprise to his boss.

Disapproval rang. “It’s not contained.”

The other man blinked, confused as he hefted the bag. “I did. I double-bagged it.”

Annoyance joined the disapproval, but it was buried under the doctor’s calm teaching voice. “You double seal it and then you put it in a container.” He paused, surveying his technician, then stepped closer. “The subject may be dead but the pathogens that killed it are very much alive, understand? Be careful.”

Finally, the man understood and a trace of fear shone in his eyes. Satisfied, Dr. Applewhite continued down the hallway to his destination, a quiet, “I’m sorry, sir,” drifting after him.

* * * * *

Greg Parker strode down the hallway towards the gun cage, intent on checking over a few things before Team One’s latest shift. In particular, the day before he’d noticed a few magazines out of place and whoever had used the climbing gear last hadn’t coiled the rope properly. Although he’d fixed the problems, they’d gotten a callout before he could check the duty log to see who’d used the gear. Not his guys, he knew, but whoever it was needed a good talking to and he was certainly game to deliver it.

In between one stride and the next, his cell phone chirped at him, a soft sound that drove his teammates mad; he’d lost count of the times Eddie had all but begged for him to turn the volume up so they could all hear it if need be. The Sergeant buried a smile at the memory of his last rejoinder – that maybe Ed should have his hearing checked if he couldn’t hear a _cell phone_ – and answered with a brisk, “Greg Parker.”

All hints of amusement vanished at the voice on the other end, but he responded with a smile and a polite, “Dr. Toth, hello. Very well, thank you. How are you?”

The response was just as polite, but there was a lingering edge in Toth’s words. Frowning to himself, Greg replied, “Okay. You wanna tell me why?” As he listened to the next volley, he shifted directions, heading for the dispatcher’s desk at a swift clip. “Yes, I know what’s in there,” he reassured the psychologist.

As he approached the dispatcher desk, an internal frown threatened. Not Winnie, nor Kira. Ben was a fairly new dispatcher to the SRU, though he’d proven quite dependable in the few calls he’d assisted Team One with. Unfortunately, he had yet to pick up on the SRU’s open secret and remained clueless as to why SRU Headquarters was sharing space with a group of ‘officers’ who preferred robes to uniforms.

The dark-haired constable glanced up, gray eyes brushing Parker’s serious hazel as the Sergeant whispered, “Ben, incident report two months ago, the 17th.”

Swapping focus to his call, Greg countered, “Nope, that can’t be right.”

Returning his attention to his patient dispatcher, the negotiator requested, “Hey. Set it up in the briefing room.”

“You got it,” Ben agreed.

Turning and heading for the briefing room, Greg shifted once more to Toth and reassured him, “Yeah, I’ll be here.”

* * * * *

Had Dr. Applewhite been able to see his lab technician, he might’ve been impressed with the measures the man was now taking. The lab subjects were now packed in a small container and the waste technician had a white mask over his face and mouth with safety glasses above. The technician carried his burden towards the waste disposal lockup, wishing it was farther away from the buildings now that he _knew_ the threat each barrel carried.

When he reached the gate, he set his container down to open it, fumbling with his keys before he forced himself to calm down. He’d done this before, even if now he realized just how _sloppy_ he’d been in the past. Hefting the small box up once more, he headed inside the lockup and set it down to open up the newest incineration barrel. Not quite full, though he’d probably have to bring another barrel out to the lockup soon.

Focused on his task, he was unaware of his company until the new man yelled, “Down on your knees! Don’t turn around!” Instinctively, he started to turn, spying a gleaming gun barrel and earning a shouted, “Don’t turn around! Hands behind your back!”

Terrified, the technician obeyed. One thing was for sure – he wasn’t _paid_ enough for this!

* * * * *

Greg stared at the screen, wishing, bitterly, that it would change. Wishing that they hadn’t been _so stupid!_ He hadn’t even _realized_ – and for good reason. Between Donna going off the rails and Giles making it abundantly clear that he was still suicidal, he’d had bigger fish to fry that day than two of his constables acting like utter _idiots!_

Which just brought him back to the words staring him in the face, words that his entire team would regret for a long time to come. Sorrowfully, he read the transcript once more.

Callaghan: So, hypothetically, you ever think of a honeymoon?  
Braddock: Love a honeymoon, hypothetically.  
Callaghan: All right, just promise me it’s not daiquiris on the beach.  
Braddock: Extreme hiking, remote trails, no outhouses.  
Callaghan: Nice. I like it.  
Braddock: Oh, you mean with you?

A sigh forced its way free, accompanying a soft, “Blast it,” that didn’t quite cover his team leader’s arrival.

“What’s going on?” Ed demanded, striding into the briefing room to join his dejected and frustrated boss.

Indicating the screen, Greg replied, “They forgot to turn their mics off.” Discouragement rang. All that work, all that effort, even the team’s willingness to turn a blind eye to the broken protocol in their midst and it had been for _nothing_. The pair had only just started their unofficial punishment the week before – Holleran had been hovering too closely over his top team to risk it before then.

Part of him was grateful when Ed’s swiftly growing fury didn’t echo through the ‘team sense’. Despite all the drawbacks to the new ‘team sense’, at least he usually didn’t have foreign emotions to deal with any more. One small saving grace in amongst all the painful realities he’d been living with instead.

“When was this?” Ed demanded.

Parker let a bitter laugh escape. “Right after Hank got shot.”

The team leader froze. “Before Fletcher Stadium,” he filled in, earning a solemn nod. “And Toth knows.”

It was not a question and both men knew it, but the Sergeant nodded nonetheless. “He called me this morning. He’s coming.”

“And then what?”

Greg cast his team leader an incredulous look.

The sniper swore under his breath and whipped away, glaring hard at the screen. “Suspension?”

“Likely,” Greg acknowledged. “Toth has probably already informed Commander Holleran. Jules and Sam will be split up at the very least; neither will remain on Team One and they’ll be watched on their new teams for some time.”

That was assuming the pair were allowed to remain in the SRU, though Greg doubted that Holleran would want to get rid of them. Sam was still his godson and a first rate sniper with team leader experience to boot. Jules, cross-trained as a sniper and a negotiator, was likewise not someone the SRU wanted to lose. Not to mention their Auror status, a status that doubled, if not tripled, their value to the SRU.

Ed flinched; it was this very scenario that they’d all been trying to _avoid_. And yet, even _before_ the entire team had known the couple’s secret, it had already been exposed. “What are you going to do?”

Hazel eyes flicked up to the screen and narrowed. “What I have to, Ed. I made the choice not to interfere.”

“They didn’t _care_ ,” Ed spat. “Even if you’d told them to stop, all they would’ve done is work harder at _hiding_ it!”

“Ed, it doesn’t matter. When Toth put this team on probation, I gave him my _word_ that Jules and Sam wouldn’t cross the line again. My team, my problem, my punishment.”

He was going down, he _knew_ that. Even on the off chance that he kept his job, he was done, finished. He’d never get another promotion – was actually looking at a _demotion_ , at _best_ – and he’d be darn lucky to stay in the SRU himself. His experience as a negotiator meant little when stacked against his history of alcoholism, not to mention all his issues with magical control and everything else.

But _they_ didn’t have to go down _with_ him. If he took a stand, refused to accept his own punishment unless Toth left the rest of Team One alone… His days as cop would be over, but weren’t they already? And once off the job, he’d have a legitimate excuse to never, _ever_ use his ‘team sense’ again. Never again use his friends’ weakness against them. And he could go back to pretending that their trust in him hadn’t been influenced and tainted. Because what would it matter anymore? So long as the ‘team sense’ was off, he couldn’t _command_ them. Couldn’t use that tainted trust against them.

The experienced negotiator’s expression never twitched as his plans flew through his head, but Ed must’ve seen something anyway. “Greg, don’t do this,” he begged.

One brow arched.

“Don’t fall on your sword like this. Jules and Sam – they _made_ their choice. _You_ didn’t do that, _they_ did.”

Softly, Greg countered, “You and I both know it doesn’t work like that, Eddie. The buck stops here.”

Behind them, the alarm went off and Ben yelled, “Team One, hot call. Gear up.”

He had so much more to say, but his time was up. “Go.”

Ed didn’t budge and blue bored into hazel, still pleading. “Greg…”

Sorrow glinted, but Parker shook his head. “I got no choice. Go. Just go.”

“You _have_ a choice,” Ed snapped. “You just don’t want to _do_ it.”

He wasn’t wrong, but Greg wasn’t in the mood to hear it. More firmly, even as he forced every last _jot_ of his magic down, the Sergeant ordered, “Go.” Ed snarled, finally going, only to glance back at his boss’s final words. “I don’t want the team distracted by this.”

“Copy,” Ed ground out.

* * * * *

Fury roared through him, scorching hot and _aching_ to be unleashed on two very deserving targets, but the likely soon-to-be Sergeant forced the rage down, wrestling the words away from his tongue. Later, after the call. After _Greg_ was gone…

Grim, Ed focused back on the road, hands clenching tight around the steering wheel. Three trucks flew, his in the lead, leaving other drivers chewing their dust as the SRU vehicles screamed through midday traffic. “What are we looking at, Spike?”

Next to him, Spike remained focused on his computer, hunting down the intel they’d need for the call. “All right, it’s a level three biohazard research facility.”

“Meaning what?” Ed pressed.

“It’s classified,” Lou offered up over the comm.

Without looking up, Spike remarked, “Right you are buddy, but hold on.” Fingers tapped briefly. “Private company, study biological agents and develop vaccines.”

Lou whistled low, right under Ed’s next question. “Terrorist target?”

“It’s on the watch list,” Spike agreed at once. Reading further, the bomb tech audibly gulped. “Oh, man. Viruses, toxins, pathogens, all kinds of exotic bacterias. This stuff gets out, it’s like biological WMD’s, like, mass casualties.”

Definitely not good. Thinking fast, Ed said, “Okay, okay. Ben?”

“Go ahead,” the dispatcher replied.

What he wouldn’t give for Winnie or Kira right about now. Pushing that aside, Ed ordered, “We need a hazmat team with a decontamination unit. Full community evac…” Stumbling over the required distance, he stole a glance sideways. “Spike?”

“Two kilometers,” Lou called.

Spike’s head jerked up; meeting Ed’s gaze, he nodded, still bewildered for some reason. Setting that particular mystery aside for later, Ed repeated, “Two kilometer radius. EMS on scene, please.”

In the background, he heard Spike hiss, “You do that in your head, Lou?”

“Biohazard, Spike; the math’s not that hard.”

Over both of them, Ben reported, “I’ve got RDA’s CEO, Dr. Henry Bergan, on the line.”

Ed cast Spike a glare; the bomb tech shut up. “Okay, Ben, thank you. Put him through.”

“Patching him in now.”

The team leader waited for the click in his ear, then said, “Doctor, it’s Ed Lane, SRU.”

The man on the other end sounded as if he was near traffic, possibly just outside his car. “Officer, I just heard. I was on my way downtown. I’m at least forty minutes away from the lab.”

Convenient. “Who’s in charge of the facility now?” Ed asked.

“Rose Gilvrey. She’s our CFO. Rose is extremely capable, she can give you everything you need.”

Nodding to himself, Ed filed the name away, noting the implicit trust Bergan had in the woman. “Okay, thank you. Appreciate it.”

The brisk, business-like tone hesitated. “Officer, I don’t know if you’re aware, but our facility… If the wrong person were to get their hands on our materials--”

Yep, that was the stuff doomsday scenarios were made of. Although…Ed could think of worse… “We’re aware,” Ed reassured the CEO.

The doctor kept pushing, dread filtering in. “All it would take is a subway car, an office building, a vent.”

Ed cut off the _charming_ images now drifting through his own head. “Doctor, the best thing you can do right now is to let us handle it. Keep your phone handy, we’ll call you if we need you. Thank you.”

As the phone clicked off, Wordy asked, “Ed, where’s Sarge?”

Not a hint of his own dismay and downright _dread_ made it to Ed’s voice. “Boss is taking care of something back at the station, Word.” Fortunately, none of his teammates called him on the _obvious_ disconnect between Team One getting such a critical hot call and their Sergeant _skipping_ said call.

It was rather a shame – Ed had been hoping they would.

* * * * *

As the trucks arrived at the lab, Spike cleared his throat and held up his phone for Ed to see. The team leader parked, then leaned over, reading over the brief message. Blue flicked back and forth, then Ed nodded permission.

Turning off his radio, Spike sent the text, then waited impatiently for his phone to ring. Less than a minute later, it did. Snapping up his phone, the bomb tech said, “Hey, Giles, we got a situation here.” Without letting the other man ask, Spike continued, “We got a lab that develops vaccines for biological agents and an armed intruder. If any of this stuff gets out…”

“End of the world?” Giles offered dryly, sarcasm reeking.

Spike didn’t laugh. “Weapons of Mass Destruction ringing any bells, wise guy?”

The wizard sobered. “You need containment options?”

“If you’ve got some.”

For a moment, Giles was silent, weighing what he could offer. Then, “Let me call you back, Scarlatti. Revan might have some ideas.”

“Copy that.” Before the other could hang up, Spike added, “Hey, Giles?”

“Hmmm?”

“Thanks.”

* * * * *

Ignoring Roy’s curious glance, Onasi swiftly dialed his old partner’s new phone, unsurprised when Revan picked up the phone the wrong way and had to fumble his way through turning the device right-side up. “Giles?”

“Hey, partner,” Giles replied, “You know any good containment spells?”

“Containment?” Revan echoed, confused. “Why, what’s wrong?”

Huffing, the Auror explained, “Team One has a hot call and they want to make sure nothing nasty gets away.”

“Nasty as in?”

One shoulder hiked. “Not sure,” Giles admitted. “But Spike called them, um…” Tilting his head, he thought hard. “…biological agents…?” On the other side of the desks, Roy swore and grabbed the phone away from Giles, ignoring the startled, half-indignant, “Hey!”

“Revan, tell me you got something,” Roy begged. “That kinda stuff can kill in _seconds_.”

Giles paled, sitting up straight. “What?” he blurted.

The answer was not a comfort to either man. Roy blanched and met his partner’s eyes. “He said, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ ”

_Oh, Merlin…_

* * * * *

While Spike dealt with a discreet call in to their Auror liaison, Ed angled for the woman who appeared to be in charge of the organized chaos in the lab parking lot. She, in turn, spotted him and hurried over.

Black hair flew out around the woman’s face, brushed back both by her speed and by the wind around them. Small pearl earrings peeked out as her long hair frothed around neck and shoulders, accenting skin a few shades darker than Ed’s, hinting at Indian ancestry, though her British accent made it clear she wasn’t first generation. Dark brown eyes met Ed’s, the woman as professional in her way as Ed was in his.

“Officer. Rose Gilvrey.”

Ed halted in front of her, eyes shifting down to keep focus on the slightly shorter woman. “Rose, is this building fully evacuated?”

“Apart from central personnel.”

Internally, the team leader frowned, but kept his tone brisk, with no hint of condemnation. “We need everybody out of there now.”

“Tests are still in progress in the lab,” Gilvery explained. “Samples of sensitive materials have to be properly contained.”

Part of him was skeptical, but he’d seen Greg handle the on-scene civilians long enough to know there were some battles not worth fighting. “How many people we talking about here?”

“Two. Our chief scientist and his second, and they’ll be done as soon as possible.”

Ed still wasn’t pleased, but moved on. The sooner they dealt with the subject, the better. “Okay, any word from the security guard?”

Gilvrey shook her head. “No, but one of our workers was found tied up in the waste disposal lockup.”

Well, at least they hadn’t sat around waiting for the police to show up. He liked pro-active civilians – as long as they didn’t put themselves or others in danger. “Did he get any descriptions?”

Regretfully, she shook her head again. “No, he was attacked from behind, he didn’t see a thing.”

Over his shoulder, Sam asked, “Can you confirm how many intruders we’re dealing with?”

Before Ed could voice his _displeasure_ with Sam trying to take over _Wordy’s_ spot, two gunshots rang out.

“Shots fired!” Sam yelled.

Behind the two men, Jules turned towards the frightened lab workers and shepherded them away as she ordered, “All right, get back! You guys, back, back, back!”

Ed pinned Sam with a furious glare, _demanding_ he fall back even as he announced, “Ben, we got shots fired. Active shooter.”

“Copy,” the dispatcher acknowledged.

Wordy shifted up next to his team leader as the disappointed Sam took up a spot on the opposite side, watching the door while Lou leapfrogged forward, submachine gun at the ready. Gilvrey stayed behind Ed as he took cover, sidearm out and ready.

Even as he eyed the door, Ed reeled off more orders to their dispatcher. “Let’s get EMS down here immediately. We’re gonna try to locate and extract any of the victims.”

A glance at Wordy was all he needed; the big constable nodded once and leapfrogged past Lou to the lab door. The brunet swept out with his free hand, gesturing their teammates into formation. Lou and Sam shifted, ready, but with spots left open for their team leader and Wordy at the very front. A glance back at Spike and Jules earned twin nods; the pair would handle the rearguard.

While Wordy organized the entry, Ed glanced back at Gilvrey. “Rose? Can you help us out with a staging area inside?”

She nodded, bringing out several plastic key cards. “I’ve brought you pass cards. Keep them on your person. These give you access to the entire building. Though I would advise you don’t go into the clean room until they’re done.”

Spike took the stack, passing one to Ed and one to Jules. The rest of their team could wait until the initial sweep was done.

“Okay,” Ed breathed. “Spike, you ready?” The bomb tech jerked a nod, earning one in return. “Let’s move,” the team leader ordered, swiveling towards the door and advancing to one of the open spots. “Word. Let’s do it.”

Wordy moved in, ending up shoulder to shoulder with his best friend while Lou and Sam pulled the gray lab doors open. Weapons rose and remained up as the constables entered, scanning the first hallway for any signs of trouble. Their civilian contact stayed behind them, guarded by Jules and Spike, the latter toting his box of electronic goodies.

“Power’s out,” Ed observed.

“This shouldn’t be happening,” Gilvrey protested. “We have precautions against blackouts.”

Sam glanced over at her. “You have backup generators?”

“Of course. But every second of downtime’s dangerous.”

Great. As if they needed even _more_ danger in a bio-lab.

* * * * *

The trouble with being on the sidelines was the part of him that would always, always, _always_ be a member of Team One, even once he inevitably lost his job. To watch Eddie go without him had hurt more than he could ever express, even though he knew it was necessary. After all, if he was _right_ , then he was probably already suspended, with only his signature still required on the paperwork.

Even so, Greg couldn’t quite help trailing out to the dispatcher desk. “What’s going on, Ben?”

Worry sharpened at the reply. “Active shooter. No confirmed victims yet.”

Before the Sergeant could speak again, a faint squeak of shoe against tile brought him around. Dr. Larry Toth, looking far more worn and old than Greg had expected. Shouldn’t this be Toth’s big moment? The day he was proven _right_ about Team One and its Sergeant? Why did the man look as if he was about to do something he truly _didn’t_ want to do?

Turning back to Ben, Greg requested, “Just keep me informed, all right?”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

Not for much longer, but Parker appreciated the thought. The Sergeant turned back to Toth, meeting blue-gray eyes. Eyes that held even more sorrow and anguish than his posture. But why? He _knew_ what Toth thought of him, of his team.

Shock reverberated through him when Toth said, “Greg, I’m sorry to do this.”

“Do what?” Oh, he knew what Toth was here for, but if he was going to have _any_ shot at deflecting Sam and Jules’ punishment onto himself, then he _needed_ to antagonize Toth. _Needed_ Toth to see _him_ as Team One’s biggest problem, its most glaring weakness. If he could _convince_ Toth that Sam and Jules’ actions were more _his_ fault than _theirs_ … A long shot, but what else did he have to lose?

To Parker’s surprise, the next words dragged themselves out of Toth, reluctance coating each one. “I’m here to suspend you from duty.”

One brow arched, but the suspended Sergeant made no reply.

After all, what was there to say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still looking for a new job, but that's just taken a serious backseat. Yesterday, the data drive of my desktop died badly enough that it will have to be shipped out for data recovery. Even worse, when I looked up the symptoms later, I discovered that the clicking noise I heard from the drive is known as the Click of Death. There is a serious possibility that when the hard drive head failed, it impacted the platters that actually _store_ data; such an impact would destroy my data. My last backup was in late May, but thankfully, I send my stories to my Dad to read, so I've managed to recoup most of my stories. The glaring exceptions are my three latest stories, two complete and one that was in-progress with only three chapters to go. I am honestly very doubtful that I can reconstruct those stories without a heck of a lot of work and even then...
> 
> I've also lost all the updates to my notes since late May, along with at least three online passwords. My parents and I are still hoping that the drive did not destroy much data when it failed (despite the grim-sounding Click of Death), but there is no way to know until the drive is shipped to the data recovery company for evaluation.
> 
> Please pray that I will get my data back, even if it takes several weeks or even over a month. Obviously, I'll be a lot more careful going forward, but I need to get through this horror in the meantime.
> 
> This will not affect updates; the stories I was working on were slated for 2022 and with the stories from my Dad, I am good until January of 2022. I also will not allow this to stop me from writing my series. I am praying to get my data back, as reconstructing my notes and rewriting three stories is an overwhelming thought, but I know I could do it if I had to. Not sure the stories would be anywhere near as good, but they would be rewritten.


	2. Eliminated the Impossible

As Team One passed through the first inner set of double doors into a small lobby area, Wordy angled for the doorway that led further into the labs. Beyond, the team split as a corridor trailed in both directions, widening into a small employee area where they’d entered. Desks, computers, and chairs occupied the center of the employee zone, while a group of white standing cabinets marched along the corridor, easily accessible.

Ed stayed with Gilvrey as Wordy and Lou pulled a U-turn to check the corridor behind him; Sam and Jules ranged in the opposite direction while Spike angled for the largest desk and started setting up his equipment. “Rose, where was the gunman last seen?”

Gilvrey’s stride picked up, the woman briefly taking the lead as she headed for a map mounted on the wall, just barely visible in the dim corridor. Ed shined his flashlight on the dark surface, studying the location Gilvrey pointed to. “Right there.” Moving her finger, she added, “And he took the guard in that direction.”

Blue narrowed thoughtfully. “Essential personnel?”

Gilvrey’s finger moved, indicating another room. “There, in the clean room. Laboratory One.”

Mental calculations flew and Ed nodded. Raising his voice, he ordered, “Jules, head to the lab, escort those workers out.” Without waiting for an acknowledgement, he turned to the civilian. “Rose, tell your team we’re on our way.” Again, he swapped focus without pause. “Guys, with me. Let’s move. Spike, get Rose to help us into the mainframe.”

His team obeyed, but the team leader felt no joy in that fact. Before the day was over, Team One was going to have a new Sergeant…and a new team leader.

And he _hated_ that.

_Why, Greg? Why’re you giving up on us?_

* * * * *

Greg studied Toth as the other man opened up his briefcase, both men now in the briefing room and seated at angles to each other. Because he knew it was expected, Parker offered a flat, “Suspended.”

Gray-blue met his eyes, a flicker of bewilderment in them, accented by Toth’s dry, “I was expecting a bigger reaction.”

Meaning, Toth had expected him to be angry. To be outraged and indignant. But what was the point in that? What was done was done and he’d given his _word_. Only for Jules and Sam to trample all over it, almost before the ink had been dry on Team One’s probation papers. Greg supposed a part of him _was_ angry at the pair for putting them all in this mess. But the greater fault lay with _him_ , with _his_ magic and _his_ abuse of that magic. With _his_ abuse of his team’s faith and trust in him. Even though Toth didn’t know about the magic, _Greg_ knew and _he_ knew he deserved a whole heck of a lot worse than a mere suspension.

So his voice was calm and matter-of-fact as he asked, “Conditionally? Permanently? What?”

Toth pulled a folder out of his briefcase before replying. “That will depend on you.” Setting the first folder down and reaching into the briefcase once more, the doctor continued, “Team One’s probation period is now over.” A second folder landed on the table, between the psychologist and the negotiator. “But I am left with three major concerns. One is your judgment as Sergeant regarding the relationship between Callaghan and Braddock, which you made the choice to conceal.”

Guilt flickered. While he _hadn’t_ concealed the relationship the _first_ time, he _had_ concealed it the _second_ time. Not to mention Eddie. And his entire team. Tone even, Parker conceded, “That’s right.”

“My second concern, Sergeant Parker, is Constable Wordsworth’s continued tenure on this team in direct defiance of his documented medical compromise.”

Greg stiffened.

“Parkinson’s Disease, Sergeant. No member of the SRU should _remain_ a member of the SRU once they are diagnosed with such a _severe_ and _debilitating_ illness. And yet, not only has Constable Wordsworth remained on this team, he _regularly_ acts as your backup team leader! With such a condition, _you_ judged him fit for duty? _You_ judged his place on this team important enough to override all other concerns?”

Hazel flashed, the gryphon within him just as indignant as he was. Jules and Sam? They’d made their own bed, _literally_. Himself? The same, in every way that mattered. But Wordy? Wordy had done the _right thing_. For crying out loud, he’d been about to _transfer!_ Parker clenched his jaw, longing to lash out in Wordy’s defense, but he forced himself to wait for Toth to finish.

“My final concern, equally critical to your team’s safety, is your judgment of your own judgment.” Greg deflated as the other man continued, “Second guessing, self-doubt. This is the subtext of all your reports, transcripts, self-evaluations. You openly question your own decision making.”

Yes, he did and how could he not? Even before Fletcher Stadium, he’d been acutely aware that Toth’s issues with _him_ were the biggest reason his team had ended up under the man’s microscope. Because of _him_ and _his_ kids, Moffet had manipulated Toth into attacking his team. Even when Toth had discovered the manipulation, the doctor’s own honor had demanded that he finish the job he’d come to do. He’d had honor like that once. Before he’d thrown it away in a thousand decisions, both good and bad. Before he’d turned a SWAT team into his own personal family to _replace_ the family _he’d_ driven away with his own selfishness and drunken idiocy.

And after Fletcher Stadium? After he’d discovered just how _badly_ he’d _betrayed_ his _own team_? What good was trust when he knew it was artificial? Tainted? A product of his secret inner longings to _never_ again be _alone_. Abandoned. What good was trust when he _knew_ it meant he could override their free will whenever he wanted, however he wanted. Their trust in him was nothing but a _lie_ and he _refused_ to trust _himself_ with _their_ souls. He didn’t deserve that kind of trust, never had. Never _would_.

Toth’s words rang, the lack of condemnation in them driving nails through Greg’s heart. “How can you captain a ship if you’ve lost your own compass?”

He couldn’t. He _shouldn’t_. Once he was gone, they were free. Not completely free, but closer to that then they were now. That was right, that was _justice_. Even if his soul already screamed its loneliness.

Toth studied him, judging him easily. “Any rebuttal? Or am I right that you’re relieved someone else has finally made the choice for you?”

Hazel flickered, but Greg didn’t reply, defiance crushed by the truth of the other man’s words.

“So…” The open folder was pushed to his line of sight, revealing the suspension orders within. “Please sign here and here and I’ll need you to relinquish your badge and sidearm.”

Numb, Greg took the pen, knowing he’d need to turn in his Auror badge as well. To Holleran, not Toth. The inner gryphon keened and his mind snagged on three possible complications. “What about Wordsworth, Braddock, and Callaghan?”

Toth’s tone was nonchalant. “Wordsworth will be transferred out of the SRU, as he should have been months ago. Braddock and Callaghan will be reassigned to different teams.”

Numbness vanished, the need, no, the _duty_ to protect his team overriding his need to submit to his well-deserved punishment. Defiance bloomed as he set the pen down, pushed the folder away, and fixed Toth with a glare. “That’s not gonna work.”

He could not, _would_ not, fight for himself. But he would _always_ fight for his team.

* * * * *

Spike pulled his equipment out of its box, setting it up as reports from his teammates flowed in. Something was up with Ed, something about Sarge. And Spike would’ve had to be deaf, dumb, and blind to miss the flash of _loathing_ in Ed’s eyes when Sam had made that aborted attempt to act as backup team leader. Or the raw _fury_ seething just under the team leader’s skin. Even as he worked, Spike gingerly reached out, tapping against Sarge’s ‘team sense’, not to communicate, but to borrow his boss’s gryphon hearing. As the only constable still by their civilian contact, Spike needed to ensure her safety.

“Northwest hallway clear,” Jules reported.

Hearing sharpened, earning a slight wince and a hasty reduction in radio volume. At least the ‘echoes’ from the old ‘team sense’ weren’t as bad as they’d been the first couple of times Spike had borrowed the gryphon traits. Lou’s voice damped down as he said, “Lab Three clear.”

“No sign of our subject,” Wordy agreed. “Not hearing any more shots, either.”

“Copy that,” Spike acknowledged, leaving his gear so he could investigate their electrical problems. If the power being off was going to be a problem, best to solve it soon. Behind him, he heard the civilian’s phone ring. Instinct murmured and he nudged his hearing up a bit more.

“Dr. Bergan.”

From the other end, distant, but audible, Spike heard the CEO order, “Rose, fill me in.”

“The police are here. They haven’t located the gunman as yet, and we’ve lost power.”

“How long?” the CEO demanded. “If the refrigeration’s down… Rose, you know what that material’s worth.”

Spike’s eyes widened. A _gunman_ on the loose and they were worried about _money_? People in danger and they were counting the _cash_? Sardonically, the bomb tech wondered if they’d start checking the silverware next. Ah, there it was. “Nice little circuit breaker,” he whispered.

Behind him, Gilvrey snapped, “Of course I do. But with armed intruders in, there seems little point in--”

Well now, maybe _she_ wasn’t so bad… Spike pulled the circuit breaker, resetting it, a happy grin showing as the lights above him came back up.

“Power’s back. We’re good.”

“I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

Turning the bomb tech angled back for his computer, pretending he hadn’t heard a word of the conversation. Brisk, he announced, “I’m gonna need access to your computers.”

“I’ll call you back,” Gilvrey informed her boss.

Despite his annoyance, Spike remained polite, if to the point. “Passwords please.”

She hurried around to see his screen, offering a quick, “Sure.”

“Now.”

Okay, maybe he was just a bit _too_ annoyed to hide it. But at the back of his mind, Spike still wondered. What was wrong with Sarge and why was Ed so angry?

* * * * *

As Jules picked her way through the hallway and finally arrived at what Gilvrey had called the clean room, the lights above her came back on, prompting an internal sigh of relief. Although she didn’t mind working in the dark when necessary, doing so in a _bio-lab_ gave her the willies.

Through the windows, she saw their two scientists working. To her left, a handy intercom lurked, just waiting to be used. Reaching out, she pressed the button and said, “SRU. You guys okay?”

They both glanced up from where they were working, at a piece of equipment that looked like it was half fish-tank and half bench. The male scientist replied, “Uh, fine. It’s probably best if you stay outside the lab until these samples are secured.”

Fair enough. Before Jules could say anything else, the blonde assistant asked, “Is that bogeyman still on the loose?”

Bogeyman? A gunman who’d already fired twice and he was a ‘bogeyman’? Keeping her voice calm and matter-of-fact, Jules informed the pair, “We’re trying to locate him right now. We need you guys to evacuate as soon as possible.”

In an almost dismissive tone, the brunet scientist remarked, “Well, we need at least another twenty minutes.”

His assistant tacked on a reason. “Some of the samples started to thaw when we lost power. Filiform gets real cranky at room temperature.”

Jules had never heard of this ‘filiform’, but she had no intention of messing with any sort of bio-agent. Backing up, she keyed her comm. “Guys, we need another twenty minutes in here.”

“Okay,” Spike agreed. In the background, Jules heard him turn to their civilian contact. “What’s filiform?”

“It’s a strain of anthrax, refined and weaponized during the Cold War. We’re working on a vaccine.”

They were playing with _anthrax_? It was official; Jules was _never_ volunteering to trade jobs with those two lunatics. She’d rather talk down a bomb sweating dynamite than mess with bio-weapons.

* * * * *

Toth wanted him gone? Fine, but he did _not_ get to take Wordy, Sam, and Jules, too. Defiance blazed in hazel eyes. “Wordy may have Parkinson’s, but he meets and _exceeds_ SRU physical requirements.”

A gray brow arched. “When I was last here, Sergeant, he was barely meeting his range requirements.”

Greg opened his mouth, then shook his head and rose. “I’ll be right back, Dr. Toth.”

Without waiting for a reply, he stalked out of the briefing room and angled for records. Minutes later, the Sergeant strode back into the briefing room and dropped a stack of files on the table, away from the still open folder with his suspension orders. Toth’s brows rose into his hairline as Parker snatched the top file off the top and handed it to the doctor.

“Wordy’s latest range scores, Dr. Toth,” Greg announced, watching the growing astonishment on the other man’s face. “Ed keeps lobbying for Wordy to take some extra classes and get his sniper certification, but so far, Wordy’s put him off.” Turning back to his pile, the negotiator dug through it, finding his next piece of evidence in short order. He pulled it out and dropped it on top of Toth’s briefcase. “I’ve been doing regular sessions with Wordy, making sure his cognitive responses are up to par.”

Toth set down the first file and opened the second, flicking through it in moments. “You’ve been having him keep his hands up?”

“Not always,” Greg admitted. “But most of the time, yeah.”

“Advance warning?”

“Not that one.”

The doctor hummed to himself. “So some advance warning?”

Parker huffed. “That one, I hadn’t done any sessions for a couple weeks and I sprang it on him right before he could go home last Friday.”

They both knew what that meant; Wordy would have been tired, irritable, and in no mood for a last minute psych eval. And yet, he’d passed with flying colors. Greg kept to himself the fact that his team had been so much on the go that week that his constable’s bracelet had been black for two days before said psych eval. Right afterwards, he’d hauled Wordy back to his place for a recharge and ordered his nephew to check over the power armlet as well. Fortunately, the power armlet’s problem had been simple – one of the crystals had been knocked out of alignment. Even better, Lance had taken the opportunity to upgrade the programming on the mithril bracelet, sheepish as he admitted the upgrade had been ready for quite awhile.

Greg watched as Toth went through both files, mutely offering the next few files to the psychologist without prompting. The man’s expression was intent, but betrayed none of his thoughts as keen eyes flicked over the records of Wordy’s physical and mental competence. After some time, Toth laid his latest file down and turned his attention back to the patient Sergeant.

“Impressive,” he granted. “However, we _both_ know that the Parkinson’s _will_ advance, stripping Constable Wordsworth of his skills and abilities. To keep him here in the SRU, where his career is inevitably doomed, is cruel. Let him find another position, one where his status is no longer dependent on his physical abilities.” The doctor paused, weighing his next words, then remarked, “In your _zeal_ to keep him on this team, _you_ have stripped him of valuable time. Time he _could_ have used to settle into another job and establish himself prior to his physical decline.”

The jabs hit home, but Greg refused to back down. “He won’t decline.”

“Ridiculous. Parkinson’s has no cure, Sergeant Parker; even _you_ must admit that.”

“None that we know of yet,” Greg conceded quietly. “But Wordy is where he was prior to getting this illness and I have reason to believe he won’t decline physically so long as he maintains his current treatment plan.”

Gray-blue skewered him. “No treatment for Parkinson’s can guarantee that, Greg. We don’t even know what _causes_ Parkinson’s.”

Nothing for it. “Dr. Toth,” the negotiator murmured, “Wordy’s treatment is covered under the Official Secrets Act.”

Toth’s jaw dropped open and he sputtered before demanding, “You are saying that a _classified_ institution is expending time and resources to maintain a constable with _Parkinson’s Disease_?”

Amusement prickled – the ‘classified institution’ in question consisted of his niece, nephew, and Merlin Emrys – but Greg merely tipped his chin down, the tiniest of smirks emerging.

As Toth gawped at him, the negotiator mused that if this was his last day on Team One…well, it was certainly a _memorable_ one…

* * * * *

_Why Greg? Why’re you giving up on us?_

The questions were a constant refrain in the background and Ed almost _wanted_ that blasted telepathy back so he could actually pin Greg down and pester him until he either coughed up a halfway decent answer or finally saw what his team leader did. Namely, that Greg Parker was one of the _best_ things that had ever happened to the SRU and whatever mistakes he _thought_ he’d made – they could deal with them. Fix them. His boss and best friend did _not_ have surrender to Dr. _Perfection_ and his impossible team-breaking standards!

Sound from ahead of the constables brought Ed back on task, eyes narrowing as he judged the distance and obstacles between his team and the subject. They’d have to be careful; subject still had a hostage; but if they hit hard, they could shut this thing down before it got any worse. Light shone from one of the lab areas, marking their target location.

“Here we go,” Ed murmured, signaling his teammates. Shifting, the group dropped back into single file, adjusting their approach to stay out of the subject’s line of sight until it was too late. As he rounded the corner, Ed brought his weapon up, yelling, “Police!”

Security guard, ducktaped and sitting against a wall out of the line of fire. Numerous refrigerators full of biohazard material, plus a table in the center of the room with labeled jars and other biohazard goodies. No subject.

“Clear,” Lou announced, sweeping left as Ed headed right, towards the security guard.

Going past both officers, Sam and Wordy moved beyond the table, doing a cursory check of the room furthest from their entry point. “Clear,” the brunet announced after a moment.

“You all right?” Ed asked the guard, crouching down to pull the ducktape off the young man’s mouth. Brunet, short haircut, brown eyes, and calm in spite of his situation. Good, they might just get a description from the man.

“Spike, we’ve got the guard; he’s unharmed,” Sam reported.

As soon as Ed got the tape off, the guard blurted, “He just left through that door. He took my gun.”

“One guy?” the team leader asked.

“Yeah.”

Snapping up to Wordy and Sam, Ed ordered, “Go! Go!”

His team darted out the door after the subject, but Wordy’s swift, “No visual,” was disappointing, but hardly unexpected.

“Spike, you got him?” Lou questioned hopefully.

Ed tensed, ready to move, but Spike’s own report flowed in seconds later. “I got nothing. He’s avoiding the cameras.”

_Dang it._ Freeing the guard, Ed led the young man out of the lab area, back towards the safe area. “We heard gunshots. Any wounded?”

“He shot out the power generator.”

Confusion rang. “Power generator?”

The guard’s shrug was verbal. “I didn’t have a passkey to get him into secure storage. He must know this building has electronic locks.”

“So he knows the place.” Inside job? It would make sense; how else would an intruder know where the cameras were. But something was missing…what was this guy after?

“Yeah,” the guard agreed. “He was looking for something in the deep freeze. When he couldn’t find it, he lost it.”

Glancing over at the younger man, Ed asked, “What’d he say?”

A flash of frustration, that of a mystery seen, but unsolvable. “He said he wasn’t gonna let them get away with it.”

Reaching down, Ed keyed his radio. “Spike, gunman knows the place. It sounds personal. Gonna bring the guard to you right now, see if he can ID the subject.”

“Copy that,” Spike agreed. In the background, the team leader heard him talking to their civilian contact. “Rose, we’re gonna need photos of all RDA employees, past and present.”

“Of course.”

* * * * *

He’d dealt with Wordy; with any luck, Toth wouldn’t go near his constable ever again. Now for the harder challenge. Sam and Jules. Ed’s words rang in his head, nixing one of his arguments before he could even marshal it. Lying…it would be so easy. So tempting – it wasn’t like he had anything left to lose anyway. But if Toth caught the lie, he’d lose – and so would Sam and Jules.

So Greg choked back his first argument; leaning forward, he met the other man’s eyes and said, “Sam and Jules? We both know they got a second chance. They _chose_ to get back together, but _I’m_ the one who enabled that. I could have taken extra measures and I _didn’t_.” Dropping his gaze, he admitted, “I couldn’t do it and I didn’t _want_ to know. That’s on _me_ , that’s _my_ fault.”

Firm, Toth countered, “As you say, they made their own choice, after already having been granted a second chance. No measures you could have taken would have stopped them. That is why I made it clear to you that _you_ would have to act before I could in order to avoid joining them in their punishment. You did not.”

All true, but Greg wasn’t finished. Lifting his eyes again, he landed Toth with a glare. “Tell me the truth, doctor. Have you ever, in all the calls we’ve had this year, seen their judgment or their performance impaired by their relationship.”

“Not yet,” Toth conceded. “But it’s only a matter of time before their instinct to protect each other overrides the safety of a citizen. This is why we have the Priority of Life protocol.”

“You like assuming the worst, Larry?” Greg lashed out. It was all he had left, the only way to protect his team, his guys. A long shot if ever there was one, but if it worked? That was all that mattered any more.

Indignation blazed, back by conviction that Parker couldn’t help but envy. “Don’t lecture me, Greg. Imagining I could’ve kept someone safe but didn’t? That’s what keeps me up at night.”

In that moment, Greg Parker froze. Shame erupted, dampening the furious, desperate _need_ to keep his adoptive family together. He and Toth, they were the same. They both spent their days striving, with everything they had, to make a difference. To keep the peace and save lives. The nights, though…those were the worst. The nights were when the ghosts crept in, howling condemnation for their failures, for the lives they could have, _should_ have, saved.

Realization dawned, so late in coming, but full of far too much truth to be denied any further. He had no right to be a cop anymore, because he no longer put the lives of the people they were _meant_ to help first. No, he put his _team’s_ lives first, he put his _own_ life first. The nightmare he was trapped inside, it was well and truly of his own making.

Doctor Larry Toth was a better man than former Sergeant Gregory Parker could ever _hope_ to be. It was about time he accepted that and let his people go. For real this time.

* * * * *

Ed strode into their mini command post, both Spike and their civilian looking up from their computers at the new arrivals.

“Employee personnel files are up on that monitor,” the bomb tech remarked, pointing to Gilvrey and her computer.

The team leader nodded, asking, “Jules, you good?” as he led the security guard to Gilvrey.

“All clear,” Jules replied.

Glancing over Gilvrey’s shoulder at the screen listing recently terminated employees, Ed shook his head in mixed amazement and dismay. “That’s a lot of turnover.”

“Yeah, one of our senior operations managers moved on last year. Got a better offer and took his entire team with him.”

Something about that sounded…not right, but before Ed could press for more details, the security guard pointed at the screen and shouted, “That’s him.”

“Xavier Dodd,” Gilvrey filled in, a touch of surprise in the name.

Moving back to the pair, the team leader ordered, “Let me see, let me see.”

Glancing over her records, Gilvrey filled in the rest. “We had to let him go four months ago. Poor performance, mental health issues.”

On the opposite side of the table, Spike called, “Guys? You getting this?”

“Loud and clear, buddy,” Wordy confirmed.

* * * * *

Jules kept listening to her teammates, watching the two scientists in the clean room work. With any luck, they’d be done soon; she wanted them out of the danger zone. Part of her wanted to yell at them to hurry up, but that would just drag things out even longer. Best to keep quiet unless and until trouble threatened.

Then trouble arrived, gun up, yelling, “Nobody move!”

“Subject’s in the lab!” Jules called, darting for the nearby door.

As she ran, she missed the first bewildered cry from the male scientist, but the subject’s reply rang loud and clear. “I’m looking for answers. You’re gonna help me find them!”

Fear rose at the thought of entering the lab, but Jules shoved it aside, forcing her way through the door, gun up and ready despite the two scientists’ position between her and the subject. “Xavier, I need you to put the gun down now.”

The subject darted sideways, putting the scientists even more firmly in Jules’ line of fire. “You, back up or I’ll shoot!” Outside the lab, her teammates arrived, but the subject saw them coming through the windows. Pointing behind her, he shouted, “Tell those guys to stay out! I can see them! Tell them to stand down!”

With no choice, Jules obeyed. “Wordy, Sam, Lou, stand down.” Turning her attention to the subject, she added, “We’re gonna work this out, okay?”

Unfortunately, the blonde didn’t seem to realize the situation, for she interrupted, snapping, “We’re in mid-process here, okay? We’re dealing with filiform, we need to reseal these--”

“Hey!” the subject yelled. “Don’t tell me about filiform, okay? I know about filiform.”

The chief scientist took the opening, his voice calmer than Jules expected. “Then you know that at room temperature filiform starts to vaporize. Look, look at the pathogen meter. We’re already inhaling spores.”

Jules followed his gesture to a mounted computer screen in the room, where numbers were climbing slowly, but steadily. Even as she looked, the meter reached 141 ppm. She wasn’t sure what ppm stood for, but it hardly mattered. She was breathing in _weaponized anthrax_.

“If the exposure in here crosses threshold level, it’s untreatable,” the chief scientist explained.

Turning back to the scientist, the black-haired man observed, “Well then I’d guess you better help me sooner rather than later.”

“We need to seal these samples immediately!” the blonde insisted loudly.

Brown eyes flashed under heavy dark brows. “Hey! What did I say?” the subject yelled, gesturing with his weapon. “Nobody moves, nobody leaves until I get what I want!” Swapping his attention to Jules, he added coldly, “That includes you.”

Jules returned his gaze, mind awhirl. She needed to get everyone _out_. But how?

_Sarge…I wish you were here… You always know what to do…_


	3. Whatever Remains

When Ben came to the door of the briefing room, Greg knew it was bad, even before the young dispatcher spoke. “Sir. Jules is in the line of fire. Subject has two hostages.”

“What does he want?” the Sergeant asked, mind already shifting to the call, to his team.

“No clear demands yet,” Ben reported. “He was fired for psychological reasons.”

Psychological reasons? That suggested a whole gambit of possible issues, all of them very bad for Jules’ continued survival. Rising from the table, the negotiator dismissed Toth’s presence as irrelevant, saying, “All right, I’ll get a headset.”

Toth, however, was not so easily cast aside. Rising himself, the psychologist insisted, “Greg, we are going to the gun cage.”

Not with his team in the line of fire they weren’t. “No, these are my people,” Greg countered, not even pausing as he strode towards Ben, though he glanced back briefly. “I need to know what’s going on.”

As he turned his complete attention to Ben, the dispatcher informed him, “There’s an exposed pathogen that could become airborne.”

“What kind of pathogen?”

“Anthrax.”

Horror slammed through him, visions of his team, of _Jules_ , dying from the deadly poison. No, no, _no_ , he wouldn’t let it happen. Not while he could do something about it. The ‘team sense’ roared to life; instinct, as natural to the Sergeant as breathing. If there was even a _shred_ of a chance that the ‘team sense’ could protect his people…

“All right, forget the headset,” Greg ordered. “Have Spike patch audio-visual into the briefing room. Do it now, right now.”

“Yes, sir.”

As he whirled and stalked back into the briefing room, Toth grated, “Don’t make me call for an escort off SRU property--”

Gryphon fury rose, answering to his own and flooding his veins with raw determination and an even _rawer_ refusal to leave _his own_ hanging. “Back off, Larry,” Greg snarled, pointing at the man and resisting the urge to throw him out of the room.

“You know you’re officially under suspension.”

He didn’t care. “Then I have nothing left to lose, do I?”

Toth opened his mouth, no doubt to make another argument, when another voice cut in. Authoritative, with an aristocratic accent she’d no doubt learned at her mother’s knee. “Carry on, Auror Sergeant Parker.”

Greg’s jaw fell open as he stared at the blonde in the doorway, her wand in hand and a sad, but determined expression on her face. _Everything_ he, his _team_ , had gone through and she was just going to _tell him_? Toth’s expression blazed confusion in that instant before he turned towards the new arrival.

Ignoring the psychologist, Commander Anne Locksley stepped into the briefing room, her focus on her subordinate. “Which is more important, Greg? Secrets or saving lives?”

Saving lives and never mind the secrets. Oh, how he’d believed that once upon a time. Before exposed secrets had put whole worlds in danger, before exposed secrets had put his own _family_ in danger. Before exposed secrets had revealed the depths of his own unconscious, unintended treachery. “Sometimes,” he whispered, “Secrets save lives.”

Sorrow deepened and his commander lifted her free hand, revealing a battered old book. Bound with leather and likely layered with preservation spells. “Right up until they make things worse, Greg.” So saying, she laid the book on the briefing room table and nudged it towards him. His bewilderment must have shown, for she managed a brief smile. “Read it later; you’ll understand.”

“Ma’am, I don’t know who you think you are--” Toth began.

“Commander Anne Locksley, Toronto Auror Division, Dr. Toth,” Locksley replied, gray eyes pinning him and forcing him silent. “ _Auror_ Sergeant Gregory Parker may be suspended on _your_ side of the fence, but _I_ have not revoked his badge, nor _will_ I. As a member of the Auror Strategic Response Unit, he has an absolute _right_ to remain on SRU property and a _duty_ to back up his team. I warn you now, stay out of his way.”

_Or else._

Greg worked to keep from gawping. Was this the same woman who’d tossed his team to the curb and _let_ Moffet _frame_ them? Was this the same woman who’d stood by and revealed his _nipotes’_ Wild Mage status to the public on the very same _day_ she’d found out? She reminded him more of the furious defender who’d drawn her wand on Lord Potter himself in defense of her ‘Muggle’ Aurors. Who’d drawn her wand on an ICW representative, even if she’d never had to use it.

The briefing room’s screen lit up, showing Jules, the hostages, and the subject, all of them in a dangerous bio-hazard lab with anthrax poisoning each breath they took. His team needed him. That was all that mattered. That was all that ever _would_ matter.

One hand reached out, snagging the conference phone. “Spike? Eddie? Can you hear me?”

Ed’s joy lit up the ‘team sense’ before his team leader backed off and stopped broadcasting. “Boss.”

The rest of his team radiated relief, mixed with confidence that their Sergeant could help them make everything right again. He wasn’t sure he could, but he was darn well going to try. Letting them down was _not_ an option. “Okay, I’ve got visual and comm, I’m with you.”

_To the end of the line, guys. I promise._

* * * * *

Jules instinctively reached for that part of herself that was really _him_ , leaning on that steady, unfaltering support. Her boss, her Sarge; family and work in one. Keeping her weapon ready, she asked, “Xavier, can you tell us what you want here today?”

Under thick, curly black hair, the subject’s eyes flashed with panic. “How do you know my name? Huh?” Glaring at his other two captives, he demanded, “What did they tell you? What did they say?”

Calm infused every word, attempting to settle the man’s frayed nerves. “They said that you worked here and you were let go.”

Over the comm, Spike filled in the gaps. “Four months ago. Mental health issues, unreliable work habits, disparaging the company.”

“Did they say I was unstable? Huh? Paranoid?”

Not bad. None of his file was news to him then. “They said you had mental health issues,” Jules admitted.

Scorn rang. “Ah. Physical health not so much their concern, huh?”

Physical health?

Jules pulled on the ‘team sense’, feeling her vision turn more vivid, more acute. Emotion swirled around her, tugging at her feelings and trying to _twist_ them, but it wasn’t real. Just echoes of the past. Studying Xavier, she searched for any signs of illness, but he looked perfectly fit and healthy to her. Then again, so had Wordy.

* * * * *

Greg frowned thoughtfully as their civilian contact filled in a few more details. “He was an excellent employee at first, but then later he became convinced that one of our vaccines was making him sick. His performance suffered, his behavior became erratic, and then he threatened litigation. So Dr. Applewhite had no choice but to let him go.”

Tapping the conference phone to mute it, the Sergeant raised his voice loud enough for the dispatcher to hear. “Ben, I need everything you can find on this guy. Family, home life, medical records.”

“Copy,” the dispatcher acknowledged.

Hazel lifted to Anne, still lurking in the briefing room, one eyebrow arching in question. She grimaced. “Auror Scarlatti called Giles, asking if he knew of any containment measures that could be used to keep these…bio-agents…from spreading. Giles called Revan and Revan came to me.”

And that led to Anne storming into him being suspended and revealing magic to a prominent military psychologist?

A wry grin curved her jaw. “I came down to talk to your dispatcher about options and overheard the argument in here.”

And he had a very nice bridge to sell her, great view of the Hudson River. Parker let his skepticism gleam a minute more, then shook his head and turned back to the call. One hand dug for his phone, flipping through his contacts even as he brought it up.

One ring later, the other picked up. “Boss?” Spike asked, confusion blazing.

“Hey, Spike. Let me talk to your contact there.”

He heard Spike pass the phone off with a quick, “Rose, it’s my boss.”

Listening, Greg sensed when the phone was in position. “Hi, Rose, my name is Sergeant Greg Parker, I’m at the SRU. Is this man actually sick?”

“His symptoms were found to be psychosomatic and stress-related.” Worry, stress, and a hint of something else rang, but Parker wasn’t sure what that last emotion was. Not yet.

“Then why would Xavier take RDA’s vaccine?”

Her voice turned brisk, back on steady ground. “Standard precaution. He worked in our bio safety zones.”

Over the comm, Spike supplied another detail. “Xavier was a disposal specialist.”

“Yes,” Rose agreed. “It’s a high-risk position. He worked with infected animal carcasses.”

Internally, Greg cringed. Not a job _he’d_ ever want, no thank you. His bomb tech stepped in again, likely reading off the computer screen. “He was given VVA-50, a three-in-one vaccine for anthrax, botulism, and smallpox.”

“Yes, all safe, approved and sold all over the world.”

He had what he needed for now, so the Sergeant nodded and said, “Okay, thank you, Rose,” before hanging up.

All very logical, all very reasonable, and yet his sixth sense wasn’t so sure. Thoughtful, he turned his attention back to the ongoing negotiation, letting his mind sift through the facts. Somewhere, there would be a gap. A loose string that he could pull and unravel the whole call. Preferably before his constable’s life was endangered by _weaponized anthrax_.

* * * * *

Jules listened, taking in the information her teammates were uncovering, rapidly filling in the blanks around the hot call and Xavier’s possible motivations. To all that she added her own private observations. Xavier didn’t _look_ sick, not to her, but he _did_ look desperate. A man at the end of his rope, afraid, but willing to do whatever it took to get what he wanted. _Something_ had made him that desperate, _something_ had pushed him to the edge.

Quiet, she asked, “Do you think the company’s vaccine is what made you sick?”

“I know it did,” he rejoined, not an ounce of doubt in his voice.

“And that’s why you’re here today.”

Xavier eyed her, mistrust shining, but he answered her conclusion nonetheless. “I’m here to get a sample of the vaccine I was given. I want my doctor to analyze it.”

The chief scientist, Applewhite, interjected, “VVA-50 has a shelf life of one year, Xavier. There won’t be any samples left of the--”

In one fluid motion, Xavier’s gun rose, temper flaring. “You’re lying! You’re lying!” Rage and fury, all it directed at Applewhite, even as Xavier turned his next words towards Jules. “He’s a liar! He’s the chief researcher here. He designs these vaccines. He fired me personally. He’s accountable. He has every reason to cover it up.”

Grudges and biases on every side. “Maybe I can check it out,” Jules offered, smoothly inserting herself as a neutral party. Able to see both sides of the argument and react accordingly.

Xavier, however, swatted the bait aside with distrust and suspicion that made him sound just as paranoid as Gilvrey had claimed. “No offense, you, I don’t trust. Them, I don’t trust. Dr. Ouellette’s gonna be here any minute, then we’re gonna get some answers.”

Over the comm, Jules heard Spike ask, “Do you know this Dr. Ouellette?”

Confusion budded, right before their civilian responded, a touch of resentment simmering in her words. “Jack Ouellette. He’s an activist scientist. Been crusading against vaccine manufacturers for years.”

Oh, wonderful. Even _more_ grudges and bias.

“And there’s no remaining samples to analyze?” Spike pressed.

“No.”

Ed stepped in. “Ben, let’s get Xavier’s wife down here. We need to talk to her.”

Mentally, Jules nodded approval. More information, along with a better picture of their subject, his motivations, and what had pushed him _this_ far.

“Copy that,” Ben acknowledged.

Out loud, the negotiator reported, “Xavier, there’s no sample on the premises. We checked it out.”

Desperation flashed again, joined by an even faster glimmer of despair. Then Xavier shook his head. “No. No. No. Why should I believe you?”

Before she could speak, Applewhite did, tone even and reasonable. “You can check the records. That entire batch will have been used or discarded by now. It’ll be in the records.”

Xavier seized the lifeline his former boss offered. “I wanna see those records. I want Ouellette to see those records. I want him to see everything! I want to know exactly what I was given! I want to know exactly what was in it!” Loathing rang, directed, once more, at Applewhite. “Something you put inside me made me sick.”

An opening, a chance. Jules raised her voice, forcing Xavier’s attention onto her. “I hear you.” Firm, she ordered, “Look at me. I hear you, all right?” To her relief, the gun dropped away from the two terrified scientists. “Now, if RDA gives Dr. Ouellette access, will you please let these people finish their work here?”

He considered the offer, expression steadying in resolve. Then he met her gaze and replied, “You make that happen, you got a deal.”

* * * * *

One minute Parker had been beaten, defeated, and ready to accept his punishment. And yet, as _soon_ as he found out his team, his _people_ , were in trouble, he’d been right back at it. Pushing aside his own problems for the sake of those he loved. It was, Larry Toth admitted to himself, one of many things he admired about Sergeant Greg Parker, even as he deplored the consequences for the Sergeant himself. Parker could only put his people first for so long before he gave under the strain of his own personal issues.

He was _already_ giving under that strain, though Larry was starting to wonder if he’d been wrong about the reasons _why_. Parker didn’t trust his own judgment, that much was clear, but it seemed to go far deeper than that. It was almost as if Parker didn’t _dare_ trust himself when it came to his team. As if trusting himself was a _risk_ to his team. A risk Greg would not take, even when confronted about it.

_Auror_ Sergeant Parker, Commander Locksley had called him. Greg had panicked at that, perhaps understandably. If, as he now suspected, Locksley was part of Team One’s classified status, then she was exposing a secret that Team One had gone to great lengths to keep hidden from him. That was…disconcerting. Though he’d resented the fact that he couldn’t have transcripts of _all_ Team One’s hot calls, he’d long respected the reasons for that. Respected Team One all the more for their dedication to keeping classified knowledge _classified_.

And yet, Larry could hardly un-hear what he’d heard. Greg had _two_ badges, only _one_ of which was within his authority to take away. Which was troubling all in itself. If he could only suspend Parker on _one_ count, then a man who was within a whisker of _breaking_ would remain on-duty. Truth be told, Larry didn’t regard the suspension as a punishment. Not anymore. No, it was, perhaps, the _only_ way to keep Parker from self-destructing. The _only_ way to save a good man’s life.

* * * * *

Greg was in the call, their Sergeant once more, where he _belonged_. Ed wasn’t stupid, knew that Toth had to have been there when Ben told Greg what was going on. This wasn’t a true resolution, only a suspension of hostilities in light of Jules’ danger. He didn’t regret his decision, though; they _needed_ Greg, they _needed_ their Boss, and _Toth_ needed to see that whatever problems Team One had, getting rid of _Greg_ was _not_ an acceptable solution.

So it was that Ed turned towards the new arrival, listening to Spike report, “Boss, Xavier’s wife is here.”

“Valerie Simmons?” the team leader asked.

The woman, blonde with classic blue eyes, halted, staring at the lab footage on the computer screen in horror. Long hair curled down her head and neck, flowing around her shoulders. Slim brows a shade darker than her hair accented a strong nose and a full mouth adorned with pink lipstick; her eyes fixed on her husband though, curiously, man and wife sported different last names.

Quiet, gentle, Ed reached out to guide the woman away from the screen. “Okay, we need to talk over here.”

“No, no,” she protested. “This shouldn’t be happening.”

Privately, Ed agreed. This shouldn’t be happening, _none_ of it should. Toth might’ve read all of Team One’s reports, but he knew _nothing_ about what made their team work. If he _did_ , there was _no way_ he’d be agitating for Greg’s suspension. Ed forced himself, once more, to push his boss’s issues aside. The call was too important for that, especially with _Jules_ on the line.

With all the persistence he’d learned from his boss, Ed shepherded Xavier’s wife to a secluded corner that offered a modicum of privacy. Before he could ask any questions, she blurted, “They forced him to take those vaccines. You know that, right? It was a condition of his employment when he started here. For his protection.”

For all the Ed had _known_ Toth was in on this particular call, he still flinched internally when Toth remarked, “Compulsory vaccinations. Just like the Gulf War soldiers.”

“Didn’t work out too well for some of them, either,” the Boss observed. No hostility, just one professional working with another professional. Ed had no idea how Greg was able to do that, put aside his own problems and his own animus; it wasn’t something _Ed_ had ever been very good at, truth be told. If he’d been in that room with Toth, _he_ definitely wouldn’t be that calm and in control.

Belatedly, he focused back on Valerie, listening to Xavier’s side of the story. “Soon, soon after that he started getting these muscle cramps, spasms in his arms and his shoulders, migraines.”

Huh. That definitely sounded like _physical_ problems to _him_.

“RDA’s in-house doctor said that it was all in his mind, like what he needed was a better attitude.”

And if anyone had said that to Word, he’d have kicked them halfway ‘round the globe. Then he’d have let the _rest_ of the team have a turn at the louse.

“But Xavier kept getting worse. After they fired him, we tracked down this doctor who studies vaccines and their side effects.”

Hmmm…Gilvrey had made it sound like it was all psychosomatic; while she hadn’t said it outright, Ed had gotten the impression she blamed this Dr. Ouellette for her ex-employee’s delusion. But if they hadn’t gone to Ouellette until _after_ the firing… “And this was Dr. Ouellette?”

“Yeah,” Valerie confirmed. “And we went for a second opinion.”

He already knew it was bad; that Valerie was still angrier at her husband’s ex-employers even with a stand-off in the middle of a _bio-lab_ meant she thought it was _worth_ it. Justified. “What was he diagnosed with?”

Raw despair looked him in the eye, despair even worse than the _look_ in _Wordy’s_ eyes when his best friend had admitted his own illness. “Lou Gehrig’s disease.”

Ed didn’t bother to hide his flinch. When he’d been trying to figure out what Wordy and the Sarge were hiding from him, he’d researched pretty much every disease that had come to mind. And a few more that had turned up during his Internet searches. Oh how he’d been ashamed at the sheer _relief_ when Wordy had said _Parkinson’s_ and not _Lou Gehrig’s_. Parkinson’s was bad, doing one _heck_ of a number on quality of life, but it wasn’t _fatal_. It didn’t turn your body into a living prison, right before suffocating you to death.

Soft, Ed asked, “How long does he have?”

Valerie blinked, caught off guard that he _knew_ what ALS was. Then her sorrow shone through once more. “Two, three years. If…if we’re lucky, maybe a bit more…”

The team leader nodded once, accepting her words. “So let me ask you this, this in-house doctor, why didn’t he discover the ALS?”

Bitterness rang, an emotion he understood so very well. “Convenient, isn’t it?”

“And you tried legal action?” Calm, he needed to stay calm. Stop comparing Wordy to Xavier and wishing, in the back of his mind, that Xavier could have a miracle too.

“Three different lawyers,” Valerie confirmed. Bitter twisted into resentment. “They all said sorry for your luck, there’s no proof the vaccines made him sick. That’s why Xavier was trying to get a sample for testing.”

She didn’t seem to notice – or care – that she’d just admitted to knowing what Xavier had planned. Possibly even _helping_ him. “Why the gun?” Ed asked.

“He had no choice,” she hissed. “They weren’t exactly gonna let him walk in the front door. Oh and he’s dying.” Acid sarcasm lashed out. “You got that part, right?”

He did, but right now, Xavier’s actions were endangering three other people and _that_ was unacceptable. He met her gaze, giving a tiny nod to acknowledge that he’d heard and understood. “Okay, I need to go to work here and I just need you to wait outside with this officer, please.” He pointed her to the officer, adding a quick, “It’s okay,” then turned back to his team, heading over to Spike.

Greg’s voice kept him from another Xavier-to-Wordy comparison, something the team leader was grateful for. “Xavier doesn’t have a lot to lose. It’s gonna be tricky working him down from this.”

Before either constable could reply, the door closed again, drawing their attention back to where a man was entering, his expression concerned, but guarded. Ed cataloged the man: Clean shaven, just a bit shorter than himself. Black hair, going gray, cut close and brushed back. Blue eyes, under thick black brows and hovering over grooves of stress. A man who habitually worked long, hard hours and, by his demeanor, knew exactly what kind of situation his patient had placed himself in.

“Dr. Ouellette,” Ed greeted.

Even as he approached, Ouellette said, “He just called me on the phone. I, I, I have nothing to do with this man’s actions here today.”

Frankly, Ed suspected that if the man _had_ known, he would’ve steered Xavier away from the armed break-in to something a bit more…legal. Or at least with less risk of getting _caught_. Brisk, he replied, “Well, that’s good. So let me cut to the chase. Could the vaccine have caused Xavier’s illness?”

Reassurance that he wasn’t about to be arrested received, Ouellette turned business-like. “There’s a preservative that’s used in some vaccines, squalene, that’s been recently linked to ALS.” Glancing over at the hovering Gilvrey, Ouellette added, “I know RDA has experimented with squalene in the past.”

As expected, Gilvrey took offense. “None of our squalene vaccines ever went to market,” she snipped.

Ed stepped in before any arguments could get started. “Okay, look, here’s the deal. Xavier wants you to go through RDA’s documentation and to tell him whether or not that vaccine is safe. Can you do that?”

“If RDA will allow it, absolutely.”

Turning towards their civilian, Ed asked, “Rose, you made the call?”

Her face and body language read reluctance, but her reply was forthright. “Yes, I’ve cleared it with our CEO, but no documents leave the building.”

Fair enough and more than satisfactory for the doctor next to him, judging by the nod. Ed turned to Spike, nodding his own approval at the microphone his bomb tech had already set up. “Okay. Jules.”

On the video and over the comm, he heard Jules inform their subject, “Xavier, Dr. Ouellette is here. RDA gave him access to their files.”

“How do I know?” Xavier demanded.

Ed shifted aside, letting the doctor at the mike. Ouellette leaned forward, expression and words intent. “Xavier, I’m right here. I’m gonna check into this for you, all right? Make sure they gave you what they said they gave you.”

The team leader watched the screen, tension vibrating. They’d fulfilled their end of the deal, now to see if the subject would fulfill his. “Okay, good,” Xavier breathed. “Good.”

Ed’s eyes flicked to Spike’s view of the lab’s pathogen meter. 145 ppm. Not high, but as far as the team leader was concerned, anything above _zero_ was too much. “Okay, let’s go,” the team leader murmured, guiding the doctor and Gilvrey away. “Lou, see if you can find us some different eyes in.”

“On it,” Lou acknowledged.

Jules’ voice sounded in his ear. “Do you remember our deal?” Ed tensed, only to hear Jules whisper, “Thank you.”

In the background, Ed heard Applewhite say to his assistant, “Okay, we’ve lost a lot of time. We have to move fast.”

Idiotically persistent even with a gun in her face the blonde might have been, but that persistence clearly made her good at her job. “We need to put these babies to bed,” she agreed, focusing on the filiform.

Lane let his breath out soundlessly. Good; their subject had kept the deal. Which made him wonder… Xavier wasn’t _acting_ paranoid. Not to mention, his ALS was a matter of medical record – the man _hadn’t_ been wrong about being sick. Although he might yet be wrong about _why_ he’d become sick, the company doctor darn well _should_ have caught a disease like that. Why hadn’t he? And why so much turnover in the past year? Ed wasn’t sure the two were related, but his well-honed instincts told him they might well _be_ related.

As the small group reached the records area, Lou reported in. “Ed, got a window behind the subject.”

The team leader keyed his radio. “Good. Now stay ready in case things go south.”

“Copy.” Fierce, determined; Lou wouldn’t let anything happen to Jules if he could help it. None of them would.

Reluctant she may have been, but Gilvrey knew her company and her job. Gesturing to one corner of the room, she informed Ouellette, “You can search our inventory on the computer over there.” Turning, she indicated another area with drawers and cabinets. “Backup hard copies filed under vaccine number over there.”

“Fast is good, doctor,” Ed tacked on.

Ouellette’s reply was brisk. Efficient. “Facts don’t lie. This won’t take long.”

The team leader frowned to himself at that. No, facts didn’t lie, but that assumed you were looking at the _right_ facts and that those facts hadn’t been tampered with. Something Ed wasn’t too sure of, for reasons he couldn’t elaborate. Just…instinct. But was that _his_ instinct? Or Greg’s?

* * * * *

Jules eyed Xavier as the scientists kept working. He’d turned away, gun down, despair an almost tangible aura around him. She knew the basics of what he was facing, but Ed’s question had driven it home. Dying, he was _dying_. In her heart, she gave thanks that Wordy _didn’t_ have what Xavier had; that would have been _devastating_. Not just for Wordy and his family, but for _all_ of them.

“How you holding up?” she asked. Regardless of what the answer was, she had an opening, one she needed to take. De-escalate the situation and perhaps earn some trust.

He turned towards her, gaze flat; involuntarily, Jules glanced at the meter over his shoulder. 148 ppm. Shouldn’t it be going _down_? Or was it too soon for that? “I’m dying.” Though emotion flashed in his eyes, his voice was level.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

As if her sympathy was all the invitation he’d needed, he started talking. “You know, first it was just small stuff. My muscles started twitching for no reason. I got a little numbness and tingling. Didn’t think anything of it.”

Inwardly, Jules flinched, imagining Wordy noticing a few things being off, but nothing big. Nothing that required medical attention.

“But this disease, it moves fast,” Xavier explained. “Soon I’m not gonna be able to feed myself. I’m not gonna be able to move. Or dress. Or swallow.” He stopped, grief glowing and his voice cracked. “Or speak.”

Later, after Wordy had told them he was _staying_ , she’d looked up Parkinson’s. How could she not? Then she’d seen the list of symptoms, ranging from early to the advanced stages of the disease ravaging her teammate’s body. She’d found testimonials, each more devastating than the last. Parkinson’s didn’t kill, not like ALS, but the similarities hammered at her.

Xavier forced calm back into his tone. “I can handle it, so can Val. I mean, that’s what it is.” The mask fell once more, tears gleaming. “But Gracie. She’s gonna grow up watching me lose control one piece at a time and waste away.” He stopped again, grief for what he’d never have ringing and drawing an answering echo from her own heart. “She’s not even gonna remember the sound of my voice.”

Applewhite paused in his work, turning to join the conversation. “You have ALS?”

Bitterness forced back the anguish. “What? Like you didn’t know,” Xavier sneered.

If Jules could have yelled at Applewhite to shut up, she would have. Especially when he said, “ALS is very difficult to diagnose. I’m sorry our doctors missed it. I really had no idea. It’s hereditary, right? Is there a member of your family perhaps who--?”

Hadn’t he figured out what everyone else had? That Xavier, rightly or wrongly, _believed_ the vaccine he’d been given had caused this deadly disease?

Fortunately for Jules’ peace of mind, Xavier didn’t escalate, instead snapping, “There isn’t. I thought you had work to do.”

Sarge’s voice rang in her ear, backing her, coaching her. Guiding her through, just as he always did. “Jules, Xavier’s living under a death sentence. His waging war against RDA is the only thing that’s keeping him going. He needs validation.”

_Copy that, Sarge._ “Xavier,” Jules said, drawing his attention back to herself. “Between me and you, you don’t strike me as an unstable, paranoid man. More like somebody who’s trying to make sure other people don’t get sick like you did.”

Another flash of desperation, backed by determination. “If I can prove that I’m right, then the money from the lawsuit will help take care of Valerie and Grace. There’s nothing else that I can do for them.”

That, too, struck far too close to home. Jules knew, without the mithril healing bracelet, Wordy was looking at that same future. The future of being nothing more than a drag, a _burden_ on his family instead of being the family _provider_. Knew, too, that Wordy _despised_ using the Lestrange money unless he had to, viewing it as tainted. Blood money.

Forcing her attention back to Xavier, Jules asked, “Do you have a picture of her? Of Grace?”

Xavier studied her for a long minute, then reached for the bag across his chest. He hefted it, dropping it back down as his muscles gave out. His second try was more successful, getting the bag over his head and letting him drop it down on the floor. Jules holstered her weapon as the subject pulled his phone out, playing with it a moment. She stepped forward, taking in the bright smile of a little blonde girl. The little one beamed at the camera, her affection for her father so clear it was almost painful to realize this same little girl likely wouldn’t remember much more than her father’s illness once she grew up.

Soft, Jules focused on the good parts. “Look at those cheeks. How old is she?”

“She just turned three.”

“Oh, that’s such a great age,” Jules cooed. “She’s adorable.”

* * * * *

Greg resisted the urge to beam at the screen. “De-escalating. Nice, Jules.” Internally, he transmitted his pride and approval directly to Jules through the ‘team sense’. Her gratitude brushed him in return, thanks for his backup almost audible.

Beside him, Toth murmured, “Facing the end of the road. Sound familiar?”

It was perhaps a good thing that Commander Locksley had left; she likely would have taken offense. Greg was under no illusions. If he was suspended, as he almost surely would be, then he would surrender his Auror badge as well. To do otherwise was dishonorable and he wasn’t so far gone as to make an end run around both Toth _and_ Commander Holleran.

Then Ed’s voice rang out, displeasure obvious. “All right, we’ve got an answer. Xavier’s not gonna like it. Jules, you’re in there, it’s your call. If he escalates, Wordy, Sam, and Lou will move on your order.”

“Copy,” Jules acknowledged.

Greg tensed, examining the screen with laser focus, _wishing_ he was _there_ , if only so he could protect his people with more than just a Squib-born’s magic. Through both Jules’ comm and Ed’s, he heard the whole conversation.

“Yeah, Ouellette.” Beneath that business-like tone, awful hope rang.

“Xavier. I know this isn’t the answer you’re hoping to hear. The vaccine is unrelated to your ALS.”

On the screen, Xavier floundered. “That was, uh… That was so quick.”

“I checked everything,” Ouellette reassured the dying man. “The ingredients list, phased trial results, safety records, chain of custody right down to your dose. I don’t think the vaccine had anything to do with your ALS.”

“What? What are you saying? You’re saying there’s no link? You’re telling me there’s no link?”

“I’m afraid not. I’m sorry, Xavier.”

Denial rose, thick and fast. “That’s impossible. Come on, there’s gotta be some kind of mistake, or they doctored the results or something.” Pleading rang. “Right? Ouellette?”

“Jules, I’m coming in,” Sam growled.

Greg’s eyes narrowed, but Jules was the negotiator. It was her call, not his. “Okay, just give him a minute,” Jules murmured. “This is a lot to accept.”

“It’s the only explanation!” Xavier exclaimed.

Enough. As if reading his thoughts, Jules interceded. “Xavier, there was nothing that happened here today that cannot be undone.”

“No, no, no. Listen, I’m not paranoid. Okay, I’ve read about these cover-ups, right? They doctored their files or they deleted something or they paid people off.”

Desperation, denial, and Greg knew why. If it wasn’t the vaccine, then Xavier’s crusade had all been for nothing. There would be no lawsuit, no support for his wife and child, just himself as an insurmountable burden on a family he’d once provided for. This was Xavier’s last stand, his last gasp at being the family _provider_.

“Xavier, you got what you came for--” Applewhite interjected, but that just made it worse.

Xavier turned on him, snarling, “VVA-50 was his baby, of course he’s gonna try to protect it.”

Though Applewhite remained calm and unruffled, his words poured more fuel on the rapidly escalating hot call. “You’ve got the answer now, you need to face--”

_No, no, no._ Greg watched as Xavier advanced, gun raised as he shouted at his opponent, at the man he _blamed_ for his illness.

Jules called, “We can check it out, Xavier. Drop your weapon.”

Xavier ignored her, his focus remaining on Applewhite. “There’s no way I would’ve got through if they knew the real truth.”

“Xavier, put your weapon down now.”

“You did this to me,” Xavier accused, expression wild.

“You drop your weapon right now!” Jules shouted.

The assistant was shifting, glancing between her boss and the bag near her feet; instinct prickled, alarm running through him. And he knew, knew it was about to get worse. Warning pulsed at Jules, but there was nothing, _nothing_ , he could do to stop it.

“You lied to my face!” Xavier screamed at Applewhite. “And you can lie to me, to my face?”

“Drop your weapon right now!” Jules ordered.

To Parker’s everlasting horror, the assistant dove for the bag and came up holding a gun. The _security guard’s_ gun.

“Drop your weapon!” Jules yelled at both of them.

“You let him go!” the assistant shouted, aiming for Xavier; both men paused, turning towards her.

Jules ran for the assistant, yelling, “Drop your weapon! Drop your weapon right now!”

Even as Jules hit her target, slamming the assistant’s weapon down, the gun fired. The explosion roared, hurling all the occupants of the room backwards. The destruction was instant and total. Yellow fog hissed, rapidly filling the room. Filiform.

“Spike?” Ed barked.

“Lockdown should happen automatically,” Gilvrey remarked.

“Just did,” Lou reported grimly.

Sam’s voice rose, calling, “Jules? Jules? Jules. Jules, status.”

And on the other end, Greg gasped, half-folding over as Jules’ pain slammed into him. One hand went automatically to his opposite arm, pain radiating from just under his shoulder. Fear flooded him – Toth had _seen_.

Which meant a man he did _not_ trust was in a position to find out one of Team One’s most closely guarded secrets. That not only was _he_ magical, but he was _linked_ to his entire team – to the point that their pain was his own.

But even that fear was nothing compared to his fear for Jules.

_You hold on, Julianna Callaghan. You do not have permission to die._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My desktop is coming home today (rain permitting since I have to take the side off to carry it safely up the stairs of my apartment). No word as of yet on my data drive, but I'm hoping I can at least confirm that it's arrived - or maybe get a tracking number so I can keep my own eye on its progress.
> 
> I still need to restore my backup to the new D drive - which will be an adventure all in itself since my Windows account is far more dependent on D drive than I ever could've imagined - but I believe God has opened a window there, so I'm cautiously optimistic that I can do the deed myself.
> 
> Lord Willing, I can get Acronis to run and restore my backup to the new hard drive. Also, Lord Willing, my damaged drive will arrive at its destination safely and I will be able to wrangle them into emailing me the most critical data.
> 
> Thank you for all the prayer thus far and please continue praying.


	4. However Improbable

Practically in time with the explosion on the screen, Parker gasped, folding over for an instant before his left hand flew to his right arm, grasping it tightly as though he’d just been injured – but that was impossible. The two of them were sitting in SRU Headquarters, safer by far than Parker’s team.

Fear shone in the hazel eyes that darted towards him before returning to the screen. Larry Toth stared between the man in front of him and the same screen, thoughts flying behind a sternly controlled expression. A nephew’s near death, carefully hidden from his uncle’s personnel file – both children, while listed, were listed as vaguely as humanly possible. A collapse, leading to a week in a coma and another week of painful recovery… A mysterious – and classified – recovery from an illness that should have seen Wordsworth out of the SRU regardless of any and all other considerations.

More than that, Larry had never forgotten Greg’s rock-solid belief that his team leader was in danger even before Winnie Camden could confirm such. Nor had he forgotten Commander Holleran’s resigned acceptance of that fact – and the wary suspicion with which he’d regarded Parker in those first few moments after the confirmation that Ed Lane had been shot.

And yet… It was sheer _lunacy_ , what he was thinking. Absolutely impossible and irrational, no matter _how_ well it fit the facts before him. No matter how much sense it made.

“Sergeant, are you all right?” he demanded.

“Fine,” Parker gritted out, cautiously flexing his right hand, a tight, controlled grimace on his face. Turning his head towards the conference phone, he called, “Team One, status!”

* * * * *

Wrong…something was wrong. Worse than the explosion, worse than the filiform – and the thought that something could be _worse_ than _weaponized anthrax_ forced his heart up into his throat even as Jules’ pain and a growing sense of weakness cascaded through his core. He barely registered Toth’s anxious question, pulling a very _Eddie_ response out as he prodded at his ‘team sense’, reaching for Jules. Afterwards, he wasn’t sure _how_ he knew, just that he _knew_. Knew she was in _serious_ trouble, knew she needed medical attention _now_ , and knew, even worse, that it was going to be _minutes_ – at the very least – before she could _get_ that medical attention.

Closing his eyes to hide the scarlet glow, he pushed his magic at the ‘team sense’. _Keep her alive,_ he ordered. _Don’t you_ dare _let me down._ What good was magic if he couldn’t protect his own? What good were the links if they couldn’t keep those _bound_ to him _alive_?

From the conference phone he heard Sam’s voice. “Jules, do you read me? Jules!”

Raising his head, Greg forced himself to examine the screen, checking to see how bad the damage was. The yellow haze obscured his view, but gryphon vision compensated. Subject, hostages, and constable down. One hostage was trapped underneath the clean bench she and her superior had been using. Part of Greg knew she’d been afraid and desperate to protect her boss, but _really_? Firing a _gun_ in a _bio-lab_? Fury rippled under his skin – the gryphon taking offense at what her actions had done to _Jules_.

“Come on, Jules,” Sam begged. “Jules, status. What’s your status?”

“I’m okay,” Jules rasped out, her boss closing his eyes in relief. But she was wrong, she _wasn’t_ okay, not by a long shot. Parker’s grip tightened on his right arm, willing Jules to do the same as she sat up. He couldn’t see it clearly through the haze, but then his subordinate groaned and cried, “Puncture wound. There’s a piece of shrapnel. It hit an artery.”

Arterial bleed…she could be gone _long_ before they got her out. Particularly with an active hostage situation going on around her. Fierce, Greg slammed even more magic towards her, _willing_ her to hold on. To stay with them.

“Keep pressure on it,” Sam urged before snapping, “Ed, we got injured, I need to get in there now.”

His team leader’s calm was forced, but only Greg knew that. “Easy, Sam, easy. We gotta know what we’re dealing with here.”

“What the heck happened?” the Sergeant demanded. “Team?” Oh, he _knew_ what had happened, could feel it with each painful breath, but he needed _details_.

Wordy replied, voice even despite the upset vibrating through the ‘team sense’. “Logan fired. We got a major spill, Sarge, and the refrigeration unit broke open.”

Their civilian contact provided the critical clue. “The bullet must have hit the HP vapor generator.”

“How much filiform was stored in there?” Spike asked, fear radiating.

“At least twenty units.”

Greg’s heart stuttered even as his bomb tech questioned, “At room temperature it thaws, right?”

“And the spores become airborne,” Gilvrey confirmed.

“The pathogen meter’s 900 and rising,” Sam hissed.

“The good news is the lockdown itself accelerates the vents,” Gilvrey reassured them. “It should bring the pathogen levels down under control.”

Then Jules brought their hope crashing down. With a whimper and a moan, she reported, “No, it won’t. The vents aren’t on.”

Fear morphed into acute dread, pounding Greg as he hadn’t been pounded since Morgana’s reality bending spell. “The venting system must’ve been knocked off-line when Xavier sabotaged the power generator,” Spike concluded.

“Word, I need you in that vent room now,” Ed ordered, confusing his boss. Why Wordy and not Lou? “Lou, find two suits for you and Sam; you’re going in.”

“On my way,” Wordy acknowledged.

A beat behind him, Lou and Sam chorused, “Copy!”

Spike’s report sent chills through the entire team. “Twelve hundred parts per million and climbing.”

Through the pain and the fear, Greg heard Eddie growl, “Come on, come on, come on.”

On the screen, the two men freed Logan and crouched over her to reset her leg; Parker resisted the urge to scream at them. Couldn’t they see _Jules_ needed their help far more? Logan was free, but Jules had an _arterial_ bleed! She couldn’t be expected to maintain sufficient pressure on her own with _just one hand_! Even if, in theory, she _could_ do so, the more blood she lost, the less she could grip. The subject ignoring his constable, he could understand, even if he hated it. _Applewhite_ ignoring his constable was just shy of unforgivable; the man was a _doctor_ , he _knew_ medicine.

Fury channeled yet more magic in Jules’ direction even as his core started to throb warning. That didn’t matter – all that mattered was keeping Jules _alive_.

Sam’s voice came over the comm again, his words, of course, directed at Jules. “Jules, can you hear me?”

Inside, Greg felt Jules’ emotions shift: joy in hearing Sam, fear that she wouldn’t survive. _You hold on, Julianna Callaghan. Don’t you quit on me._

“Sniper breathing, okay? Slow it down and hold. Lower your heart rate, you’ll lose less blood. We’re coming right in. We’ll get you soon, okay?”

“Parker, are you sure you’re all right?”

Hazel tinted red shifted in Toth’s direction, his magic too active to hide. “I’m _fine_ , Larry.” He wasn’t; the pain was increasing, along with the weakness, but to shut the ‘team sense’ down meant Jules wouldn’t have what little magic he could offer her. He couldn’t risk that tiny amount of magic being the difference between life and death.

“If filiform’s inhaled, what happens, Rose?” Ed asked, iron control over his emotions.

The woman’s response was chilling. “If it’s under a micron, hits the bloodstream with every breath. If you inhale over the threshold, there’s no going back. There’s no real symptoms at first, but…”

“But what?” Ed demanded.

“Ultimately? Severe respiratory problems, your skin turns blue, you vomit blood. It’s terminal.”

Greg shuddered – a death sentence far worse than ALS or the Killing Curse.

Ed’s fear touched his next question. “Okay, under that threshold, is, is it treatable?”

“With antibiotics,” Gilvrey replied.

“The threshold is?” Spike questioned.

“Anything over twenty-five hundred’s fatal.”

Terror slammed him even as Spike echoed, “Twenty-five hundred.” By that alone Greg knew they were already in the danger zone.

Forcing his own hurts away, the Sergeant pushed himself upright, releasing his arm despite every instinct _screaming_ for him to grip it anew. A sharp gesture kept Toth in his seat as Parker pulled his phone out, fingers flying over the digital keyboard.

“Hey, it’s me. Can you get back down here?”

Less than a minute later, Commander Locksley strode into the room. “Parker?”

One hand snapped out at the screen, earning a gasp. “Filiform. It’s a weaponized version of anthrax and it’s just been released in that room. Anything over twenty-five hundred parts per million is fatal.”

“Is it a poison?”

Greg reared back and Toth’s gaze sharpened.

Then Spike’s voice came from the conference phone. “Sure is, ma’am. Treatment is with antibiotics and sometimes antivenin.”

At those words, Locksley _smiled_. Glancing up at the screen, she asked, “Just those four exposed?”

“That’s affirmative,” Greg confirmed.

A nod before she turned away. “I’ll get the bezoars **(1),** Parker.”

Toth blinked at her departing back, then turned towards the Sergeant. “Just like that?”

Though Greg was just as caught off guard, he replied simply, “Yes, Larry, just like that.” His head lifted back to the screen, focusing on Jules.

_You hold on, Jules. Just keep holding on; we’re coming._

* * * * *

Before heading for the vent room, Wordy scrambled to his teammate’s side, holstering his sidearm as he went. “Sam,” he called, clicking his comm off.

Sam turned, confusion gleaming; it glowed even brighter when the backup team leader gestured for the sniper to turn his radio off. Even so, Sam obeyed, one hand turning the volume down. “Wordy?”

Grim, Wordy pulled off the power armlet, then his mithril bracelet. “Take them,” he ordered, thrusting them at his shocked teammate.

“What? Wordy, what’re you _doing_? You _need_ those,” Sam protested.

“Jules needs them more.” Simple, straightforward, even if he had no idea if a healing bracelet designed for _Parkinson’s_ could stop an arterial bleed.

For a long moment, Sam stared between the bracelets and his teammate, then he nodded, reaching forward and taking them. “Copy that.”

Wordy returned the nod, then turned, snapping his phone up and racing along the highlighted route to the vent room. Once he reached his destination, he examined the room and the computer screens inside as he clicked his radio back on and reported, “Ed, I’m in the vent room.”

“Talk to me, Word.”

“Looks like everything’s shut down, Ed.” The brunet frowned, stopping by the primary computer screen to study the layout. “Gonna have to reinitialize the system manually.”

A writhing shot through his gut, but it didn’t feel like Sarge. More like…Ed? Pushing aside the suspicion that the links were getting a _whole_ lot more complicated than just two-way connections between them and the Sarge, Wordy frowned, mentally plotting how to get the system back online as quickly as possible.

With an internal huff, Wordy moved to hook his phone back to his belt and froze as the screen lit up. To his shock, the primary computer responded, the initial screen wavering an instant before the screen itself _blurred_ , images racing across its surface so fast Wordy couldn’t even get a glimpse of them.

One halted, glowing serenely at him for a few seconds before he realized it was the first of the screens he needed to reboot the system. Gray eyes narrowed, then he tapped to restart the first part of the fan system. As soon as he did so, the images returned to their racing speed, flashing across his vision too quickly to process.

* * * * *

Hooked to Constable Scarlatti’s belt, a phone virtually _identical_ to Constable Wordsworth’s phone shone, the outer edges of its screen pulsing with a light blue glow. Computer code flowed, too rapid and complex to be read as various courses of action were weighed, analyzed, and discarded at a lightning clip. Only one final scenario was permitted, all else were unacceptable.

* * * * *

The team leader’s voice drew Wordy back from the latest computer screen, startled. “Doctor, I’m gonna ask you one last time before I put any more of my team in danger. Is there any possibility that Xavier could be right?”

Did it really matter? Jules was in danger; there was no _way_ they were going to _abandon_ her. Even as the brunet’s frown morphed to a scowl, Ouellette replied, “Only if squalene were present in the VVA-50’s composition. But I’d have seen that in the records.”

Something pinged in his gut, a ping Spike must’ve felt too, for he asked, “And, hypothetically, if there had been a cover-up?”

For a supposedly crusading anti-vaccine activist, Ouellette seemed to be taking RDA’s documentation at face value. “No, not possible,” he argued, “not without doctoring the records. Not without employees being aware.”

“Or employees being let go?” Ed questioned, a definite edge to his tone.

Silence, but a sort of satisfaction raced through Wordy’s awareness. Definitely Ed. What the _heck_ was going on?

“What kind of employees?” Spike inquired.

There was a moment of silence, as though Ouellette was considering the scenario. Then he remarked, “Depends on the nature of the cover-up.”

“What are you doing?” Gilvrey demanded, indignation and anger ringing loud.

Spike ignored her. “Operations manager? Safety supervisor? Quality control inspector?”

Ouellette warmed to the topic, his voice turning confident. “If it were a contamination issue, definitely.”

“There is no cover-up,” Gilvrey insisted in the background.

Like Spike, Ed ignored her. “That many people were let go?” he asked the bomb tech.

“Last year,” Spike confirmed. “The entire safety operations team, just before Xavier was hired.”

Wait, _what_? Who the heck dumped their _entire_ safety team all at once? Wordy swallowed as a burning sensation joined the satisfaction in his gut. Still not him – or Sarge. Gingerly, he reached out mentally, tapping at the ‘team sense’, trying to communicate his bewilderment to Sarge. Sensing _Sarge’s_ emotions, he could understand, even if he didn’t like it all that much. But _Ed’s_? How was it happening, _why_ was it happening?

“Rose, you replaced your entire safety department?” Ed asked incredulously. “What, did you get a result you didn’t like?” he tacked on, sarcasm reeking.

Rattled, but not about to admit defeat, Gilvrey replied, “As I said before, our safety operations manager left and took his entire team with him. I was sorry to see them go.”

“Huh.”

Ed wasn’t buying it and truthfully, neither was Wordy. Then his phone gave a soft chirp and he turned back to his task, trying to ignore that fact that, all of a sudden, the smartphone seemed to have a mind of its own. Well…at least it wasn’t going all Skynet on him.

Yet.

* * * * *

The ‘team sense’, jammed open as wide as he could, lurched within him, carrying Wordy’s silent query. Greg frowned to himself, confused as to why _Wordy_ was being affected. It should only be _Jules_ receiving his emotions and magic. She was the one most in danger, the one he was focusing on. Deciding to ask Wordy later, the Sergeant flicked the emotional inquiry aside and turned back to more pressing matters.

“Spike, Eddie, think we need another angle on this.”

“Copy,” Spike agreed.

“Ben, get me RDA’s CEO on the line,” Parker ordered, though he glanced over at Toth with a silent question of his own.

The psychologist studied him, then nodded once as, in the background, the dispatcher said, “Copy.”

Ed stayed focused on their witness and now possible suspect. “Rose, if you’re protecting someone, now is the time to come clean.”

“Boss, Dr. Bergan’s on the line,” Ben reported.

Grim, Greg ordered, “Patch him through,” and lifted his phone to his ear.

As the call clicked on, Bergan remarked, “Sergeant, I understand the situation at the lab still isn’t resolved.”

That was putting it mildly. Level and calm, Parker replied, “Yeah, your former employee remains convinced that one of RDA’s vaccines made him sick.”

“That’s just not possible,” the CEO protested.

Maybe, maybe not. Time to pull his ace. “Doctor, I’m telling you a minute ago I would’ve agreed with you.”

Startled indignation rang. “Excuse me?”

“Dr. Bergan, are you aware of any, uh, problems with operational safety at RDA?”

“Absolutely not,” the other man disputed firmly.

One eyebrow hiked incredulously. “So you’re not aware that your entire safety team was replaced last year?”

“Rose told me they moved on by choice.”

Wait, _what_? How on _Earth_ did a successful CEO buy _that_ line? “She replaces an entire safety department, and you don’t even raise an eyebrow?”

“I trust Rose implicitly,” Bergan informed him. “Her vision and leadership have single-handedly made this company profitable again.”

Profit. The almighty dollar and never mind who got _hurt_ in the process of _making_ that dollar. Congeniality dropped away, revealing a grimly determined Sergeant. “Dr. Bergan, I’ve got four lives in jeopardy at your lab. I’m gonna need your full cooperation here.”

The other hesitated, as though caught off guard. Then he replied, “You have it, I promise you.”

Greg let that hang for an instant, letting the promise soak into Bergan’s awareness. Not just words, no, they _meant_ something. Something more than profit and money. Then he said, “I’m taking you up on that.”

[1] A stone taken from the stomach of a goat that will cure most poisons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my sheer relief to have my desktop back on Friday, I forgot to announce that I would be posting a Side Story on Monday, September 14th in honor of my birthday. For anyone who missed it, please go and enjoy "A Wizard in Toronto's Police Department", a tale of when Roy and Giles _first_ became partners. Also when Giles started learning how to use a gun - quite the novel feat for a _wizard_.
> 
> Speaking of my desktop, it is back in action (minus my three months of data *sniffle*) and I'm actually typing this author's note on it right now. As of this writing, I have not yet heard from the data recovery lab; if I hear something before posting, I shall update this note below.
> 
> Regardless of what happens, I won't give up on this series, though reconstructing my notes and those three stories will be a Herculean feat. I am, however, still waiting and hoping, so while I'm waiting, I've turned my attention to my notes for an original fiction series. It's still in the very, very early stages since I actually intended to wait until I'd finished _It's a Magical Flashpoint_ , but with Magical Flashpoint on hold, I've got to have something to play around with.
> 
> Have a great week everyone and Keep the Peace!


	5. Must Be the Truth

It hurt, it hurt, oh, gawd, it hurt. She could feel Sarge’s magic running through her, gripping her, tethering her to life, _refusing_ to let her give up. Fierce, protective, and gentle all at once, just like him. In the background, an alarm went off; time running out with each breath. With each fresh spurt of blood from between her weakening fingers. A whimper fought its way free and she looked up, vision blurring.

From outside, she heard Sam call to her again. “Jules, slow your breath, okay? Count it out. Keep your heart rate real low.”

She nodded as best she could, listening to Logan crying in her boss’s arms. He soothed her, fear vibrating in his own voice.

She couldn’t give up, she was the on-scene negotiator, her team _needed_ her to keep trying. “Xavier,” she managed to gasp out, “we’re running out of time.” But even as she spoke, her strength faded, body giving up and collapsing sideways. She hardly registered Sam’s frantic cries, reality narrowing to the world around her and the fresh surge of scarlet magic racing through her core.

Someone was above her, leaning over her and checking her. Why hadn’t they done it _sooner_? “Okay,” the someone said.

“Is she okay?” another male voice asked.

“She’s lost a lot of blood,” the first someone explained before leaning closer to her. “You’ve gotta apply constant pressure, okay.”

How? Somehow, she gasped out, “Okay. Okay.” Her free hand found her arm again, but she could hardly grip any more.

“All right, keep your head down.”

More power ran through her and her grip tightened. How was Sarge _doing_ this? He was just a Squib-born, not a _wizard_.

Hearing sharpened enough to hear Sam’s plea on her behalf. “Xavier, she needs medical attention, okay? You all do. You need to let everybody out now. Xavier, how can this possibly help you?”

The moment hung, but finally the second male voice announced, “Okay, okay, okay. They can go but he stays.”

The first protested, “They can’t walk, Xavier. They need our help.”

“You’re staying,” the second hissed.

“Jules, we’re on our way.”

We?

* * * * *

“Are you hearing what I’m hearing? A civilian’s at risk.”

Mentally, Greg shook his head at Toth. He knew the plan and it was a _good_ plan, even if it meant another one of his constables would be at risk. “They know what they’re doing,” he replied.

Over the conference phone, Gilvrey pointed out, “The decontamination chamber’s effective for only two people at a time.”

Not to be deterred, Ed asked, “Rose, can they take an oxygen tank in there with them for the others?”

“Too risky,” Gilvrey countered. “The air’s thick with hydrogen peroxide vapors. Introduce enriched oxygen and the whole thing could blow up.”

On the screen, Greg watched as Lou and Sam made entry, both constables clad in hazmat suits. To Parker’s surprise – and Toth’s visible fury – Sam headed for Jules, kneeling down next to her and grasping her free arm. Lou moved so the other occupants of the room couldn’t see what was happening, but the camera caught it. A golden armlet, mounted with five crystals, slipped around Jules’ wrist and was gently pushed up to make room for a second bracelet, this one silver. As soon as the silver bracelet closed around Jules’ arm, green raced along its surface, shimmering defiance.

Lou knelt at Jules’ back, applying pressure on her injury, and Sam rose back to his feet, turning towards Logan. With help from Applewhite, Logan was hefted up into Sam’s arms and he carried her towards the exit, stride even and unhurried.

Wordy had…Sam had… A lump made itself known in Greg’s throat, tears stinging his eyes; his team was fighting _just_ as hard as _he_ was to keep Jules alive. Soft, but firm, the Sergeant remarked, “Did you see that? You might wanna write that down, and put it in your file. Priority of life is observed.”

In a subdued voice, Toth replied, “Noted.”

“Sarge, is that you?”

_Jules._ Dismissing Toth, Greg reached out, snatching up the conference phone even as he poured every last _scrap_ of magic he could find into the ‘team sense’, sending it straight to _her_. “Hey, Jules, you stay with me. Yeah, you hang in there, okay?”

“I couldn’t get through to him.” Broken, plaintive, pleading for him to tell her what she’d done wrong, what she could have done better.

Pride and reassurance flowed through the link, emphasizing each word he spoke. “No, you did everything you could, you hear me?” _No one could’ve done any better than you did today, Jules._ “You did everything you could. You do me proud.” _Don’t you quit on me._ “You just hang on. Jules, you just hang on.”

_Don’t you_ dare _die on me, Julianna Callaghan. You do not have permission to die._

* * * * *

More screens flew past him, a jumbled blur as his phone let out a soft hum. Whatever was going on, he hoped it meant the system would restart that much faster, ‘cause they were almost outta time. “Come on, come on,” he hissed under his breath. The phone’s hum grew louder, the screens flying even _faster_.

“Word, come on, buddy. Anything?”

“Working as fast as I can, Ed.”

Yeah…more like his _phone_ was working as fast as it could. As if in response, the screen in front of him froze and he punched in the next part of the startup sequence before his phone let out a _whirr_ and the primary screen went all blurry again.

* * * * *

“He’s here.”

“Let’s do this.”

_Yes, let’s,_ Ed thought, fury and satisfaction burning through him. A glance sideways made him tense. 2245 ppm. “Come on, come on,” he whispered, an unspoken plea racing through the ‘team sense’. Angry at Jules and Sam he might be, but he didn’t want her to _die_.

Gilvrey’s cell rang, the sound somehow ominous in the deathly quiet makeshift command room. She pulled it out and announced, “It’s my boss, I need to take this.” Out of the corner of his eye, Ed watched her move to the far corner, flicking a glance back at them before she turned away and answered the phone. “Yes?”

So. Very. _Useless_. Over the comm, Ed heard Dr. Bergan’s voice as clearly as if the man was standing in the same room. “Rose. I was just questioned by the police.”

“The less you know, the better.”

A grim smile emerged. Not what you heard from someone who had _nothing_ to hide.

“I appreciate that,” Bergan replied. “But just so it’s clear moving forward, the safety team you replaced…”

“They found irregularities in the tank cleaning system,” Gilvrey explained. “And the presence of squalene in a large batch of VVA-50.”

Fury raced through him, tempered only by the knowledge that they _had_ her. They _had_ her and she was _going down_. And Jules was going to be _just fine_ and Xavier would get his lawsuit, even if he couldn’t have Wordy’s miracle. And then he could stop comparing Wordy to a subject and Toth would leave Greg alone and they could all go back to _normal_.

“We disagreed about the risk, and I gave them a generous incentive to move on and then I cleared up.”

Bergan’s voice remained level, calm. Not bad for a civilian playing informant on the fly. “I see. And that batch wasn’t destroyed?”

“Henry, you know how much a batch that size is worth,” Gilvrey pleaded. “It’s our entire margin for the year. I couldn’t just throw it away.”

Money. Profit and margin and never mind the _lives_ ruined along the way. As far as Ed was concerned, companies had _every_ right to earn a living and make a profit, same as everyone else. But that right _stopped_ when it meant _people got hurt_. If you couldn’t make a profit without doing it _honestly_ , you didn’t _deserve_ to be in business any more.

“I didn’t realize,” Bergan murmured, his tone still unconcerned. “So we’ve distributed a tainted vaccine and Xavier was one of a number of people who received it?”

“We’ve had no customer complaints and there’s no actual proof that our vaccine made him sick.” As Ed fumed in the background, Gilvrey drew in a breath and said, “It was my call, Henry.”

“Your call pulled us out of the red,” the CEO observed.

“Yes, it did.”

“It earned you a bonus.”

A _bonus_?

“Yes, it did,” she confirmed quietly.

“Thank you for your honesty, Rose.”

As Dr. Bergan hung up, Ed stormed towards the woman, rage roiling in his gut. Sarcasm rang, tinged with disgust. “Yeah,” he spat, “Thank you for your honesty.” Dismissing the woman, he strode past, adding, “Jules, you get that?”

* * * * *

Spike resisted the urge to smirk as the stunned CFO glanced after his teammate, then looked to him in confusion. Leaning over his computer, the bomb tech explained, “Your boss was calling from our station. The miracle of the modern headset. The whole team’s connected to one set of ears.”

* * * * *

On the constable’s belt, opposite of Gilvrey, blue light intensified, coding racing faster and faster across the screen. Almost. Almost.

_System restart in 42.679 seconds. Pathogen threshold in 41.783 seconds._

_Unacceptable._

The phone let out a very faint whine.

* * * * *

Lou crouched over Jules, gripping her arm as tightly as he dared, determination a comfortable burn in his veins. He was _never_ giving up and he didn’t even care that he’d essentially placed himself at Xavier’s mercy by coming in and _staying_ by his teammate.

Over the comm, he heard the conversation between Gilvrey and Bergan, but kept his mouth shut. Despite her injuries, Jules was the negotiator for this call. Beneath him, she drew breath and yelled, “Xavier, it’s done.” Softer, she pleaded, “Help me up.”

Sam was going to kill him, but Jules was the negotiator. Glancing over at Applewhite, he tilted his chin. The doctor moved over, helping him get Jules upright without taking any pressure off her arm. Lou stayed in position, grip tightening in an effort to keep the blood _inside_ his teammate; Applewhite braced her on her good side, keeping the brunette from falling over again.

“Xavier! Xavier, Rose confessed. She confessed! She confessed.” Confusion shone in Xavier’s dark eyes, but Jules kept going. “There were safety issues. RDA gave you a tainted vaccine, okay? Gave you a tainted vaccine.” Pausing long enough to gather up another lungful of air, Jules said, “She admitted. She admitted to the cover-up. She did.” Exhausted, the negotiator leaned against her teammate. In a softer, yet still intense tone, she whispered, “Now you have to go. The decontamination chamber only works for two so I want you to go now. We have to get out of here. We have to go. You go first.”

Lou didn’t have to look up to know that whoever got in the decontamination chamber next would be the _last_ survivors; the horror churning in the ‘team sense’ told him that all on its own. More, even _with_ his presence and the Boss’s magic, Jules didn’t _have_ any time left. It was wrong, _she_ was wrong; Xavier was a _subject_. Officers before subjects.

Before he could voice any of that, Xavier countered, “You go first. I’m already sick. Come on. Come on.”

The tan-skinned officer didn’t wait for anything more; with Applewhite’s help, he hauled Jules upright and supported her towards the decontamination chamber. A glance communicated to the doctor that he and Jules would go next while Lou and Xavier remained for the final round. Lou refused to think about the possibility of his hazmat suit’s air giving out before the chamber could be used again; he’d known he was taking a chance before he’d stepped through the door. Jules was _worth_ that chance.

Hovering over their shoulders, Xavier murmured, “Gawd, I’m so sorry.”

Through the windows, Lou saw Ed and Xavier’s wife Valerie arrive, but kept his eyes forward, focusing on the decontamination chamber. Almost, almost. Once Jules was out, she was safe, but he _had_ to get her that far. Xavier darted ahead, pulling the door open, and Lou surrendered Jules to Applewhite, helping the doctor heave her that last step into the decontamination chamber.

“Jules is in the decontamination chamber,” he reported, tone steady with no hint of the fear flicking in his gut.

“Word, Xavier and Lou still aren’t out,” Ed barked.

“Almost there,” Wordy called.

Soft, but still audible, Lou heard his team leader mutter, “Oh, come on, come on.”

Behind him, Xavier had moved up to the glass, gazing at his wife. Lou turned his head, watching as the pair reached out, their palms flat against the glass, ‘touching’ through the protective barrier. Each of them whispering to the other about how much they loved each other. Anguish churned and Lou looked away, grateful Lisa would never know how he’d gone down.

Dark eyes lifted to the pathogen meter. 2458 ppm. Dang. So this was how it ended.

_Could’ve been worse,_ Lou mused, _Could’ve been a land mine._

* * * * *

The whirr rose to a whine, the screens flying so fast that the screen in front of him turned blue with not even a hint of the white lines he’d been seeing thus far.

_Threshold in 4.658 seconds._

_Unacceptable._

_System restart._

In between one breath and the next, the screen froze. Wordy scanned it, then slammed his fist against the screen, restarting the vent system. Behind him, air whooshed as the turbines that powered the vents ground into motion, already pulling the deadly pathogen out of the lab. “Got it!” he yelled.

* * * * *

_System restarted. Threshold scenario averted. Mission complete._

On two phones, computer code winked out, replaced by a single word.

_JARVIS._

Then the word and the glow faded, leaving the magical smartphones much as they had ever been.

* * * * *

EMS descended on Jules, getting her onto a stretcher to begin the journey to the hospital. Sam hovered next to her, then blue eyes widened in surprise as a familiar figure arrived, toting a small bag and a bundle of paperwork.

“Good work, boys,” Senior Auror Nathanial Simmons’ gravelly voice remarked. Passing over the paperwork, he added, “I’ll take it from here; you’re not cleared for the hospital she’s heading to.”

The paramedics were none too happy, but couldn’t argue with the paperwork they’d been given. Sam watched as they headed for the decontamination chamber again, ready for next pair, then turned back, one blond brow arching. His hand snapped up to catch a nut-like object that looked like some kind of overgrown fruit core.

At the confused blink, Simmons chuckled. “Bezoar, Braddock. Should take care of all that junk she inhaled.” The Auror drew his wand, casting a quick spell on Jules’ arm. He examined his handiwork, then grunted approval. “Should hold till we get you to St. Mungo’s, Callaghan. Get that bezoar in you while I take care of the other three, then we’ll go.”

“Copy,” Jules whispered, gratitude shimmering in spite of the weakness.

* * * * *

Greg finally let the ‘team sense’ go once his magic wearily reported that Jules had reached the hospital. His core throbbed at him, a migraine threatening, reminding him that despite his ability to seemingly snatch life from the jaws of death, he was _still_ a Squib-born with all the attendant limitations thereof. At least he’d done it; Jules would _live_ and he had a feeling Toth would leave his team alone going forward. Wordy was free and clear, Sam and Jules hopefully likewise.

And now…now he needed to accept his punishment. Regardless of what Anne Locksley or Eddie thought. Resignation and a tinge of relief shone in tired hazel as he shut down the conference phone and let Ben turn off the visual. Then he returned to Toth, sitting down and waiting for the psychologist to speak.

Shrewd blue-gray regarded him for several moments. “You know I can only take _one_ of your badges, Greg.”

“I won’t play that game, Larry,” Greg replied firmly. He didn’t have much honor left to speak of, but he had that much at least.

A flash of surprise, then Toth inclined his head respectfully. A moment later, he leaned forward, demeanor turning intense, almost fierce. “I confronted you with your suspension, you agreed to it. But when you saw your people out there were at risk, what’d you do?” Without waiting for a response, Toth gestured up at the screen and answered his own question. “You went High Noon on me, at great risk to your chances of getting your job back. Now, why is that?”

“You saw what happened out there. Priority of life was observed.”

_Eddie…_ Slumping in his seat, Greg resisted the urge to groan. Couldn’t Eddie let it _go_? Couldn’t Eddie let _him_ go? He’d accepted the consequences of his decisions, why couldn’t Eddie?

Toth’s counter was predictable – and right. “Today it was. We don’t know about tomorrow.”

That was true. As he himself had said to the pair, it only took _once_. One time and they’d spend the rest of their lives wondering if it could’ve been different. As it was, they’d nearly traded _Lou’s_ life for Jules’; given RDA’s less than stellar track record regarding safety, Greg wasn’t placing any bets on Lou’s hazmat suit being any protection against _weaponized anthrax_.

“You gotta be kidding me.” Oh… _goodie_ … While he’d been woolgathering, Eddie had found the suspension papers.

The silver psychologist was unphased. “Your Sergeant’s suspension orders.”

“You don’t get it,” Ed hissed, sitting down, glare almost lethal.

“I’ve seen this team, I’ve read the reports--”

“You don’t see what this team does, you don’t live the job,” Ed fairly spat. “If it wasn’t for him--”

_If it wasn’t for me, you’d be_ free _._ “Eddie,” Greg interceded.

But Eddie wouldn’t stop. Meeting his boss’s eyes, he snapped, “Sam and Jules? That was the right call.”

“You can’t say that.”

_Thump._ Ed’s fist slammed the table, his faith and trust in his Sergeant blazing. “It was the right call because it was your call.”

It hadn’t been, not entirely; he’d _known_ , but Eddie had been the one to make the call. Just as Gilvrey had hidden the contamination from her boss, so Eddie had hidden Sam and Jules’ relationship from _him_. Plausible deniability.

And yet…Eddie had made that call for _him_ , to protect _him_. Not Sam and Jules, _him_. His team’s decisions were ultimately his own and so, Eddie was right. In a very real way, it _had_ been his call – not just because the buck stopped with _him_ , but because it was possible, no, _probable_ , that his team’s thinking had been influenced by the ‘team sense’ _long_ before Fletcher Stadium.

In the background, Ed was still speaking, even as the rest of his team, sans Jules, arrived. “And that’s why we’re here, and that’s why we’re Team One. So don’t come in here and tell me otherwise.”

Even as Toth rose, fresh horror swamped the Sergeant. His call, his magic, his _fault_. His magic wanted what _he_ wanted and that was to not be alone. To not lose any one else, to never again go through the anguish of losing _family_. But this _wasn’t_ a family, it was a SWAT team. A team he’d failed and betrayed and oh, dear _Aslan_ , what had he _done_? What had he _done_? Bad enough that he’d compromised himself in more ways than he could count, but now he’d compromised _Eddie_?

“Okay.” Greg’s eyes swept up, following Toth as the psychologist rose to face his teammates, speaking to them directly. “So here’s the thing. I like this team. I like your Sergeant. I trust him. The problem is, he doesn’t trust himself.”

How he kept his flinch internal, he didn’t know, but he managed. Trust. How he _hated_ that word. Trust could be manipulated, trust could be _tainted_ , trust could _force_ his team to act against their own free will. To trust himself was anathema now – it risked his team and he could not, _would_ not, do that to them. Bad enough that his magic had enslaved them, bad enough that they’d _chosen_ to keep that bond – he would _not_ compound that by taking advantage of their _tainted_ , manipulated trust in him.

“Team One is off probation as of today,” Toth announced. Glancing at Sam, he added, “Regarding Callaghan and Braddock, based on what I’ve seen today, I will make a personal appeal to the chief to reverse his decision to split them up.” Turning back towards Parker, he concluded, “Until that time, they will remain on Team One.”

“Thank you,” Greg murmured.

The psychologist’s attention returned to Sam. “How is she?”

Sam blinked in surprised, but answered. “She’s stable, sir. She’ll be all right.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Having said that, Toth returned to the table, gathering up his briefcase, but leaving the suspension orders. “Sergeant Parker, you have some thinking to do.”

Parker’s heart sank; Toth was really going to do it. Toth was going to leave it up to _him_. Why, why, _why_? Why did it have to be _his_ call, why couldn’t Toth just _make it for him_? Why couldn’t Toth protect his team from their treacherous, untrustworthy Sergeant?

“I’m gonna give you one week to decide if you want to continue to lead this team,” Toth informed him. “Your team trusts your judgment. So do I.”

He shouldn’t, _they_ shouldn’t. He was nothing but a _traitor_. A dishonorable _rat_ who didn’t even have enough _honor_ left to stand down and let them go.

Dismay and relief warred as Toth strode past his team towards the door, calling, “One week,” over his shoulder.

Slowly, feeling like he’d just aged a decade, Sergeant Greg Parker stood up, the weight of his own actions once more bearing down on him. The weight of his team’s tainted trust, the weight of what his _magic_ had done to them. He didn’t look at his teammates, he couldn’t. Not after what he’d done to them.

Smug, triumphant, and still flush with victory, Eddie’s drawl reached his ears. “So…” He glanced over, seeing Eddie holding up the folder with his suspension orders. “Go to the gun range, use this for target practice? What do you think?”

In one swift stride, he reached his team leader and pulled the folder away, though he never met Ed’s gaze. “No, Eddie. Not just yet.”

Without another word, Sergeant Parker left the room, acutely aware of his team’s stunned silence as they watched him depart. The folder burned in his hands, taunting him with every single one of his failures. But maybe…if he signed the papers within, accepted his fate, maybe they could still be free. As free as possible while they were still _bound_ to him. He couldn’t break the bonds, but maybe…maybe there was another way. He just had to _find_ it.

Grimly, he reached inwards; the ‘team sense’ was already shut down and it was the work of moments to barricade it. The _less_ they got of his magic, the better. It had _already_ influenced them _far_ too much. Loneliness jabbed, but far, far less than usual. Against the loneliness he set the fact, the _truth_ that while his _team_ had been given a choice, _he_ had not. No, he’d just been told he had to accept _their_ choice and never mind that he’d _never_ wanted this. Never wanted to be their ‘king’. Nor had he been allowed to plead his own case with his teammates – no, that blasted Lion had just given them a blanket choice…and _refused_ to give _him_ one. The injustice of that still rankled deep, a knife twisting in his soul each time he thought of it.

Within him, the gryphon let out a plaintive whine, hardening his resolve. He would wait a week, then sign the papers. Let them _go_ , once and for all. Let _himself_ go. It was the least he could do, after betraying them so thoroughly. Once he was suspended, he could devote his full time and attention to really, _truly_ giving them their freedom back. Regaining his own freedom.

No matter what the cost.

_~ Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cue closing _Flashpoint_ music* I'm sure everyone knows what comes next, but one item of business first. As always, I treasure each and every comment left on any of my stories, so I very much appreciate those willing to take the time to leave one.
> 
> So...having said that, we will be starting "Greatest of These" on Tuesday, September 22nd 2020.
> 
> For anyone wondering when they should backup their computer - if you haven't done it in the past month, do it _now_! Hard drives can crash without any warning whatsoever (and if you hear it clicking, take it directly to data recovery. Don't even attempt to power it on).
> 
> As far as my data drive, I'm mostly waiting for the declaration of DOA (Dead On Arrival) at this point. The middle platter has rotational scoring and as of this writing, they've gone through two sets of data heads attempting to read information off the platters that are still intact. But what _really_ sends a death knell through my hopes and prayers of getting my data back are the following two lines: This recovery isn't looking good. The damage might be too severe to recover any data.
> 
> I've begun the process of attempting to rebuild my files, notes, and so on, but the mountain of reconstructing what I've lost... There are no words right now. I am also looking into a possible second opinion for if ( _when_ ) they declare the drive non-recoverable and send it back to me.
> 
> I knew better and I've seen other author's notes from authors who had their computers crash on them and take stories with that crash. I got sloppy and arrogant and now I'm paying the price for that. There is no question that I will reconstruct my notes and those stories, but I fear the quality of the recreation will be far, far less than the originals.
> 
> Thank you for your prayers on behalf of my lost data; I know that each and every one of them were heard, but sometimes, the answer is no. Accepting that is very hard for me, but I'm doing my best. Can't change the past, though I dearly wish I could right now.
> 
> Keep the Peace.


End file.
